Brainwashed (Alabaster Penitentiary Book 3)
Author: Nyla K
Date: 2022-07-06 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Alabaster Penitentiary; Volume 3

Brainwashed

Copyright © 2022 Nyla K.

All rights reserved.

eBook ASIN: B0B1VQTQZH

Cover Design by Ashes & Vellichor

Cover model: Ben Smith

Photography: Daniel Jaems

Interior formatting: Champagne Book Design

Proofreading services: Nice Girl Naughty Edits

Brainwashed is the intellectual property of Nyla K.

Except permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without prior written permission of the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, popular culture, corporations, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Title Page

About This Book

Dedication

Foreword

Brainwashed Playlist

Epigraph

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Lem’s Epilogue

Felix’s Epilogue

Exclusive sneak peek of FRAGMENTS: Alabaster Penitentiary, Volume 4

A Note From the Author…

Acknowledgements

Thank you for reading

About The Author

Monster.

That’s what they call me.

Lock your doors, hold your loved ones tight. The Carver is on the loose.

Except I’m not. I was caught.

The days of allowing my inner depravity to run wild are over. I’ve been sent to prison for good, something of a celebrity in this dark, dank hellhole they call Alabaster Penitentiary.

The only thing I have left to offer the world is my story, and unfortunately for me, the Warden has the rest of my life to get it out of me.

Being poked and prodded, examined and tested on isn’t something I enjoy very much. Until they send him…

The new doctor is here to study me and my crimes. And I’m beginning to think we might not be as different as it seems. He craves knowledge the way I crave the blood of my victims. Despite his robotic nature, there’s just something about him… Something I want.

But I’ll have to be careful not to smother it to death.

After all… It’s kind of my thing.

To Marcus, Ben, and Henry.

And all the true-crime-loving bloody little psychos out there.

Remember… Being weird is cool.

Hail yourselves!

Well, here we are, inmates. Furlough is over, and we’re back behind bars!

Let me just start by saying that this is the book I’ve been waiting to write for pretty much my entire career. Being a massive fan of true crime, with an insatiable fascination with serial killers, I’ve known since day one that Felix Darcey would be my favorite character of all time.

What does this mean for you all? Well, I suppose that depends.

You’re here, which means you’ve most likely gotten through volumes one and two without much issue. But as I’ve stated before, each of the books in this series are wildly different from one another. Distorted was the mindfuck, Joyless was the angsty, scorching-hot palate cleanser, and now… We’re stepping into the mind of a vicious sociopath.

Right off the bat, I can tell you there will be many subjects explored in this book that could be extremely triggering to some people, such as graphic depictions of murder, torture, stalking, rape, suicidal thoughts, mention of childhood sexual assault—of non-main characters—and basically anything you could expect from a character with literally no empathy.

Let me state that again: Felix Darcey is a sociopath. He feels no remorse for his crimes, though that’s not to say he feels nothing. He certainly does, as he’s a very complex character. But this is a man who kills humans who don’t deserve to die and does not regret it.

If that seems like something that will upset you, you may want to reconsider this one.

Outside of what I’ve mentioned, I’m sure you can guess the other kinds of things our characters will explore here… It’s a big ol’ bloody mess, so again, if that’s not your thing, steer clear.

Also, I just want to mention that the layout of this book is quite unique. It follows the timeline of Joyless, and because of that, we get to experience some of what Felix Darcey was dealing with before Dr. Love even enters the picture. This book is a slow burn, it contains a lot of examination into the workings of what make The Carver who he is. So my advice, as always with my books, is to go in with an open mind, and don’t expect this to hit the same as the others.

It’s its own animal.

What else is there to say but get strapped in, grab a bucket, some Tylenol and some spare batteries.

It’s carving time.

**Please be advised that this is a work of FICTION. In no way does the author condone the activities or topics discussed in this book. Being intrigued by something in a broad scope doesn’t mean you actually want it to happen.**

Listen on Spotify!

Official Song of Brainwashed: Crazy In Love by Eden Project

Trouble - Hope Sandoval & The Warm Inventions

Prisoner - 311

Let Me Out - Future Leaders of the World

Sick Boy - The Chainsmokers

Personal Jesus - Depeche Mode

Night Crawling - Miley Cyrus & Billy Idol

Heart-Shaped Box (Acoustic) - Underoath

Scissorhands - Maggie Lindemann

Crawling - Dream State
blood - nothing, nowhere. & KennyHoopla

The Speed of Pain - Marilyn Manson

Never Let Me Down Again - Depeche Mode

Ballad of Dwight Fry - Alice Cooper

Ted Bundy - Theory of a Deadman

Can I Exist - MISSIO

Calling Dr. Love - KISS

Vicious Pastimes - House of Harm

Psycho Killer - Talking Heads

On My Own - The Used

Blue Monday - New Order

Policy of Truth - Depeche Mode & Francois Kevorkian

Outside (Live) - Staind

Birdcage - Holding Absence

Everybody Wants To Rule The World - Tears For Fears

Enjoy the Silence - Depeche Mode & Daniel Miller

STITCH ME UP - Point North

Easy - Troye Sivan

Fix You (Live) - Sam Smith

Redbone - Childish Gambino

Can’t Get You Out of My Head - Johnny Goth

Ghost - Ryan Caraveo

Loveless - PVRIS

On The Run - Timecop1983

Mad World - Palaye Royale

Strangelove - Depeche Mode

Into Your Arms - Witt Lowry & Ava Max

It’s My Life - Karizma Duo

Afterlife - Holding Absence

5150 - Machine Gun Kelly

Heavenly - Broadside

When I’m With You - Sheriff

Fade Into You - Inhaler

“I think in some way I wanted it to end, even if it meant my own destruction.”

—Jeffrey Dahmer

I don’t necessarily believe in God, nor have I ever believed in divine intervention.

But from the moment I laid eyes on Kieran O’Malley, I knew I was meant to kill him.

What set him apart from my other victims, you might ask?

Nothing in particular. He was a ruthless criminal, just like me. Maybe he didn’t suffer from the same afflictions… Maybe his tastes varied from my own. In fact, I know they did.

Because he did something to damn himself to this insufferable hellhole they call Alabaster Penitentiary that I would never do. Something between my crimes and which I draw a non-negotiable line. Something that segregates him from those of us who were born this way, and those who take a different kind of insurmountable pleasure from killing.

He murdered the innocent. A child.

In that way, I suppose he’s similar to many of my others. He was like most of the depraved lunatics who met my blade, in that he couldn’t control himself when it came to those who couldn’t defend themselves.

I’m not sure I believe that conscience, or some minute form of empathy, is what separates me from them. There are people who do believe that… I’d certainly like to agree with them, but I’ve never been one to necessarily upend myself from what I’ve done.

I do know, however, that there isn’t a great deal of sport in killing someone who hasn’t even developed fully yet, cognitively and such. What does the Bible say, again? When I was a child, I spoke like a child, acted as one.

Still not religious. I’ve just read a lot.

No, what made Kieran O’Malley a different sort of kill for me was the how of the matter.

The reason why I was able to kill him.

I’d only been residing in Alabaster Pen for four days before I met him. For some reason, the Warden made the decision to keep me separate from the rest of the inmates, but I don’t think it was necessarily because I’m more dangerous. It was almost as if he was keeping me on a pedestal; like a shiny new treasure, to be held in its own vault. And since I’m no simpleton, it didn’t make me feel special. It pissed me the fuck off.

I’ve always valued human interaction, though I’ll be the first to admit I’m not very good at it. Still, I’ve spent my life chasing it, like an overbearing, needy adolescent, and when I finally catch some, I usually end up squeezing too hard.

But that’s not the point we’re making right now.

I hate being alone, and my curse is that I always end up that way, especially now that I’m on this desolate island; loneliness personified.

I always assumed I’d end up in prison someday, but never in my wildest nightmares could I have anticipated a place like this. And because of the media circus surrounding me in my final days of freedom, I stepped into Alabaster Penitentiary like the new kid who just moved to town. The one with a reputation.

All the other inmates were immediately itching to prove themselves around me. Prove they were harder, or more dangerous, I suppose. Maybe they wanted to impress me. Who’s to say? But it made my first few days here quite interesting.

One morning, I was dragged up from my private cell to the main cafeteria for breakfast. The guard yanking me along was gentle in his ways, which I had to appreciate. He was a large, rather attractive fellow. And he smelled good. I remember leaning in closer to him, stealing whiffs of his scent, peeking up at the mussy strands of golden hair, the darkness of his blue eyes, almost black in the unflattering light.

I was so busy staring at him that I barely even noticed all the commotion in the room at my arrival. Until he was using his large body to block me from sudden danger that pulled me swiftly out of my daze.

Inmates were jumping up and dashing toward me, screaming and hollering. It was a big mess.

I couldn’t help the smirk that settled on my lips as the giant, tattooed blonde man shielded me, giving me even more opportunities to sniff him, and feel his muscles grazing various parts of my body.

I felt like a celebrity. The attention went to my head fast, and I had to close my eyes to remind myself of the truth.

They don’t really love you, Felix. They’re pretending.

They want to hurt you. They all do.

A few of the other guards rushed over to contain the wayward inmates. And then the biggest guy, the one in charge—I now know him quite well as Officer Chevelle—commanded the room with a voice booming louder than thunder, Glock in hand, probably ready to shoot the next person who made a move.

That person was Kieran O’Malley.

But he wasn’t rushing over to me the same way the other animals were. Rather, he tackled the inmate closest to him, pouncing on him while throwing blow after blow to his face, before anyone could even react.

I remember being stunned at how quickly his fists moved. Rapid-fire punches swung from his arms like the wings of a hummingbird, a sick smile never leaving his face. It was fascinating.

By the time a different guard was hauling him to his feet, he had a Taser pressed to his neck. The shocks instantly racked his body as he seized and twitched, my wide eyes stuck on him in awe.

“Fuck you, Timmy!” he snarled as the officer cuffed him, thrashing about in his hold. “You made me do it!”

I had no idea who Timmy was, but judging by the confused look on the face of the inmate he’d just been attacking, it wasn’t him.

My curiosity was piqued. All the other inmates who’d jumped up were trying to get to me, while this pale, black-haired guy with a discernible Irish accent was just trying to get to anyone.

As the guard dragged him past me toward the exit of the cafeteria, I assumed to throw him in solitary, his eyes met mine.

Time slowed down. The color of his irises, murky green like a swamp, beckoned to me as I held my breath.

And then he whispered, in a hushed and jagged tone, “I’m nothing like you.”

My heart jumped. It leapt behind my ribcage, and my face turned to watch him being carted out of the room, all the while swarmed with thoughts. The intensity happening in my head was thick, transporting me back to a time and place far from this one.

I’m doing this for you.

I blinked heavily, shaking myself out of it when I realized I was still in the cafeteria at Alabaster, and the good-looking blonde guard with the dark blue eyes was speaking to me.

I focused on how straight and white his teeth were as he spoke.

I’m nothing like you.

Why would the Irishman say that? Did he want me to know something about himself?

Was he telling me his truth, there in the stale-smelling room surrounded by noise?

And even after I snapped back into reality, and finally responded to the guard who gave me food and helped me eat it at a table by myself, I couldn’t stop thinking about those words, and the man they came from.

The way his face moved as he spoke to me. The curves and lines of it… So intriguing.

After that, I spent much of my time wondering what he’d done. Why he felt that he was nothing like me…

Was he right?

Many events of my life have led me to believe that there’s a reason for all of it. Each and every step we take carves out our destiny. Purpose is given, adjusted, and instilled. We’re guided into everything we do by the chaos of the universe.

Months later, I was planted in an exam room right next to Kieran O’Malley.

Weeks after that, I was given the keys to his cell.

That was when the fun began.

Five minutes…

My lashes flutter. Like the wings of the monarch butterfly I saw that afternoon in the park. It moved quick, yet so gracefully. I watched it flit about right before he stepped out of the coffee shop.

My eyes want to open, but I force them to stay closed. To keep me in my thoughts. Fight it… Fight waking up to the truth. The reality of my situation.

The human body stays alive for five minutes after strangulation. Meaning, if you’re a fighter, your body can overpower the desire to go to sleep forever.

He was a fighter.

A loud bang comes from up the hall, a sound I’ve come to know over the last few months as the door. Everything in this prison is so loud. The clanks and clunks of metal slamming, doors locking, giant guards trudging around, on a permanent mission to keep us prisoners unsettled. Even the keys are loud, jingling and clashing, like an alarm that goes off at random times. You can’t even get used to it.

The keys I hear today, however, are especially persistent. As are the footsteps… And the unmistakable sound of shuffling, which could mean only one thing…

My eyes shoot open. My head shifts and I glance toward the door to my cell from where I’m lying on the bottom bed of my bunk. Sure enough, there’s Officer Chevelle, also known as Velle… My bestie.

Just kidding. I don’t think he likes many people, but I’m probably pretty low on his list of pals.

His second-in-command, Joy Jameson, is here too, and together they’re dragging a man into my cell. I sit up slowly, blinking at them as they shove the man forward and begin unlocking his cuffs and shackles.

“Alright, you whiny little prick.” Velle huffs, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “You win. Your bitching and moaning have paid off. Here’s your new cellmate.”

“This is a bad idea…” Joy mumbles under her breath. Velle ignores her.

“Meet #97. #97, this is your new roomie…” Velle’s voice trails as he slaps the man on the shoulder. “I’d sleep with both eyes open.”

Without another word, they turn and leave the cell, door slamming and keys jangling as they lock up and stomp away.

And I’m left alone with my new cellmate.

He’s tall and sort of built, with a real rough-looking face. Shaved head, obviously. I think the head-shaving is standard for inmates here… But not for me. Just one of the many things I seem to be exempt from in Alabaster Penitentiary.

I press my fingers together on my lap, containing my zeal. I can’t believe they actually gave me a cellmate. I really didn’t expect them to give in so easily…

I’ve been residing in Alabaster Pen for a few months—roughly three, by my calculations—and I’ve been alone pretty much the entire time. The only people I see are the guards who lug me to and fro. On occasion, I get to look at other inmates in the cafeteria. But I’m not allowed to speak to anyone.

The thing is, I’m used to being alone. I always have been. Even in a crowded room, I’m disregarded. I’ve always been invisible…

Being trapped in my little cell all by my lonesome does remind me of my apartment in Brooklyn Heights at times… Though at least there I could blast Tears For Fears and mess around in the closet I turned into a dark room. Here, the only thing I have to entertain myself is, well… myself. And when yourself is me, you can only go so long before the need begins to rise, slinking up your extremities, beginning in your toes and inching its way, until it’s thrumming in your veins.

Demanding. Insistent. Insatiable.

Completely unrelenting.

Without my personal hobby—my main method of procuring human contact—I’m just me. Felix Darcey.

Being Felix Darcey makes me itchy.

I’d rather be The Carver.

And so, I did what any other spoiled brat does when they’re not getting their way… I pulled a temper tantrum. And now, with this affable fool staring at me in my cell, I appear to have been victorious.

“Thought you were dead,” the big guy—Inmate #97—says, waltzing around the cell, observing things.

I don’t recognize his face from the cafeteria, and with a number like 97, I’m guessing he’s new. I’m number 89 and, like I said, I’ve been here for months.

“Maybe I am,” I mutter a response to his stupid comment.

He turns over his shoulder to raise a brow and I wiggle my fingers, making one of those oooo ghost noises. He simply huffs and turns away.

I roll my eyes to myself. He seems like great company.

Even though he clearly already knows who I am, I say, “I’m Felix. What’s your name?”

“Ivan. Wilkerson.” He spins and stands directly in front of where I’m sitting on the bed. “You on the bottom?”

I bite the inside of my cheek to hold back a smirk. “Never have been before, but I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

He continues to stare blankly at me.

Awesome. I finally get a cellmate and he’s the dullest criminal in the history of crime.

“I can move to the top if you prefer the bottom.” I sigh, choosing to ignore the innuendos he’s not picking up on anyway.

Standing up, we’re face-to-face and I observe him closely. He’s sort of rugged, and not in a good way. I’m guessing maybe drugs or just years of abusing his body have made him look like this. He’s definitely not my type, but it’s not an issue. I don’t always need to be attracted to them, though I’d prefer it.

Really, I just need them around.

“That’s okay,” Ivan mumbles, a gruff voice to match his look, with the slightest hint of an accent.

As he’s reaching up to the top bunk, I ask, “Where are you from?”

He hoists himself up, choosing not to use the little ladder thing. “Brooklyn. Ukraine originally.”

I nod, watching as my new friend Ivan gets himself settled up on his bunk. It’s early, so chances are we won’t be going for showers or food for at least a few hours. Not that there’s any kind of schedule to be followed here.

Alabaster Penitentiary specializes in the most haphazard scheduling known to man. And it became apparent to me pretty quickly that they do it on purpose. Developing a routine is comforting to humans. And they want to keep us as uncomfortable as possible.

It’s the point, after all. We’re here because we’re the scum of the earth. The morally reprehensible. Evil.

Damned and destined for a rotting death surrounded by concrete and wasted potential.

Shaking that off, I continue to watch Wilkerson. He looks like he’s trying to sleep, which sets my jaw. I wanted a cellmate so I’d have some human contact. Maybe someone to talk to…

If I wanted to be ignored, I’d just continue walking around the way I was.

“I’m not invisible,” I mumble under my breath.

Wilkerson’s eyes creep open and he glances at me. “What’s your malfunction, chief?” I simply blink at him. He sits up on his elbows. “Listen up, Carver. I know all about you. I heard on the news… But I’m not impressed. If you think you’re going to turn me into your next Christmas tree decoration, think again. I don’t play games, unless they’re gonna get me laid.” He pauses to look me up and down. “And you’re a little too old for my tastes.”

My stomach turns, tightness gripping my chest as he closes his eyes and lies back down. My fingers twitch at my sides as I continue to watch him, pulse increasing steadily.

I’m too old for him…? I’m fucking twenty-three…

Crawling back onto my bunk, I lie on my side and face the wall. I feel heavy. Weighted to the stiff mattress beneath me. Closing my eyes, I see a face… One I haven’t seen in a long time outside of my head. Hazel eyes and dirty blonde hair… Pouty lips.

Curved into a frown. He was sad… and scared the last time I saw him.

A man jogs through my memories.

Red splashes.

My muscles ache and burn. My lungs are tight. The smell of copper surrounds me.

My fingers swipe through the sticky red on his face…

Eyes shooting open, my head turns slowly to the bars on the bunk bed. To the piece of metal I’ve been bending every day. It’s loose… Almost there.

I aim my gaze at the bottom of the bed above me. Nice to meet you, Ivan Wilkerson.

You’ll do just fine.

Felix Harmon Darcey

Age: Twelve

Location: Ridgefield, CT

Childhood Home

Being out in the forest has always been my favorite.

There’s something so comforting about the quiet. The colors, the smells… I could spend hours exploring the woods behind our house, back in Connecticut. Whether it was raining, or sunny, or there was snow on the ground. It was always different out there.

In the forest, I was invisible… But I liked it. I was supposed to be invisible out there. Meant to creep around unseen. It was the only way to explore, after all.

I used to play this game where I’d hide behind trees and pretend I was spying on someone. I’d seal my back to the bark, occasionally peering around to sneak peeks at the person I was following. And he had no idea I was even there.

My invisibleness worked in my favor.

It was an afternoon in spring. I was walking home through the woods, weaving in between trees, jumping over fallen branches, avoiding the prickly bushes. Pine needles crunched under my feet as I tried to step lightly, practicing my quiet. But then I stopped short at the sight.

Red. It was blood.

A dead fox lay there, its midsection torn open. It must have been the prey of a coyote.

I wasn’t scared, though. I just couldn’t stop looking at the insides of the dead animal.

I knelt down next to it, to get a closer look. It didn’t smell awful, so it had probably only been there a few hours. I could see bones and certain innards left behind by whomever had slaughtered the poor thing. Its eyes were open, but there was no life behind them. They were vacant. Empty.

Lifting my right hand to my chest, I placed my palm over my own heart. I felt it beating, reminding myself that I was alive. The beating sped up as I stared at the dead animal… Blood matted in its fur. With my left hand, I poked at the insides of the beast. The blood was wet and sticky. The mushy stuff inside felt weird, but my heart was thumping even faster beneath my right palm.

I’ve always liked animals. Maybe I liked them more when I was a kid, though we had no pets. Even so, I thought animals were alright. They usually ignored me like humans did.

In this moment, however, I felt nothing for the fox. I wanted to feel bad for him… I desperately wanted my chest to grow heavy with sadness that he was dead.

But it didn’t. I felt nothing but riveted.

At the time, I chalked it up to a genetic love of science. My father, Dr. Harmon Darcey, was a neuroscientist. He studied the brains of humans and animals alike. He had many interesting books on such things in his office, and it had always fascinated me. When he found out that I had an interest in science, he began bringing home things for me to look at.

Once he showed me a human brain. It was cool, but I had been more interested in how he’d obtained the brain, which he later explained he hadn’t done himself. It was removed by someone else.

After that, I couldn’t sleep. My mind was loud with thoughts of how one would cut into a human being to locate the brain. The types of knives and tools required to do something like that… It was captivating to think about.

The dead fox on the ground was like a free cadaver. So I picked it up in my arms, as carefully as possible, and carried it back toward the house.

The sun was about ready to set, which meant that, hopefully, Dad would be home soon. He worked a lot, very long hours, so he wasn’t always home for dinner. But I crossed my fingers that today he would be. I wanted to show him what I’d found. I thought maybe we could dissect it together.

Just thinking about what we could use to do something like that had pep in my step as I pranced through the forest, clutching the lifeless fox’s body to my chest. Scurrying through the trees into our backyard, I saw my brother, Zach, playing in his sandbox. I waltzed over, pride in the form of a smirk covering my lips.

Zach looked up at me, sand smattered across his cheek. His eyes dropped to the fox and his face immediately morphed into one of disgust. “Is that real??”

I nodded enthusiastically. “I’m gonna show it to Dad.”

“That’s gross.” He went back to his toys.

I simply rolled my eyes and strolled toward the house.

My brother is three years younger than me. At the time, he was nine, and to say that we didn’t have much in common would be an understatement. We’d never been close, mainly because as soon as Zachary came along, he was the primary focus in our household.

Our mother’s attention had always been on herself more than anything else. Well, herself and her marriage to our father, which was strained even on the best days. But once baby Zach came into the picture, the little maternal affections I had once received were shifted onto him.

I told you… I’m invisible.

Bringing my fox to the picnic table, I plopped him down, rolled up my sleeves, pushed my glasses up my nose and began checking out his anatomy. For three blissful minutes, I was lost in my own world. A place where torn flesh, blood, and gore weren’t gross. They were fascinating. They’re just parts of us, after all.

We’re all made up of the same things.

But when I heard my name screeched from the patio, I knew my time was up.

“Felix Harmon Darcey! What on earth is that on my picnic table?!”

Glancing up, I flinched at the sight of my mother storming over, visibly fuming. Mom was usually always up in arms over something. She yelled a lot, sometimes at us, sometimes at nothing. Her moods were perpetually up and down, and I could tell from the way her hair was in disarray, like she’d been pulling at it, and the lines around her eyes, that she wasn’t happy today.

“Oh God, that’s horrendous! Where did you find this??” she squawked, observing my fox with disgust on her face.

“In the woods…” I mumbled, standing as she shooed me away from it.

Looking me over, she huffed out even more frustration. “You’re covered in blood, Felix! What the hell is wrong with you??!”

My mouth fell open, but I didn’t even know how to answer. I didn’t think anything was wrong with me, per se. Other than maybe the fact that I couldn’t feel sad for the fox. But that wasn’t necessarily a problem. After all, it wasn’t like I’d killed him…

“Now I need to get a shovel and try to throw this away…” Mom began pacing around frantically, and my stomach bunched up in knots.

Whenever her mood was like it was then, I found myself much edgier. It was like her tension struck up my own, which was odd because I didn’t usually feel things just because other people were feeling them. In fact, I had a tendency to feel the opposite of what everyone else was expressing.

Mom rushed toward the shed and came back with a shovel. As soon as she scooped up my fox, my eyes widened, and I shouted, “No, Mom! Please! I wanted to show Dad!”

“Felix, your father doesn’t want to see that,” she barked, carrying my fox toward the trees. “He’s going to flip out if he comes home and there’s a dead goddamn fox on the table.”

“Please don’t take him…” I whined, chasing after her while she rushed away with my prize.

“Felix, go inside the house right now!” she shouted at me, but I didn’t listen.

She tossed the fox onto the floor of the woods at the edge of our backyard. Then she started digging.

I froze for a moment, watching her scooping up leaves and dirt. “Mom… what are you doing?”

Zach wandered over to us, watching by my side as our mother dug a small hole.

“What does it look like I’m doing, Felix? I’m digging a hole so we can bury this dead body.” She said it so calmly.

“Why?” Zach asked.

“Because that’s what you do with the dead,” she breathed, sounding suddenly exhausted. “You bury them.”

I don’t think the process of digging the hole then burying the fox took more than about ten minutes, but for some reason I remember it feeling like hours. It was as if we stood there in silence—after that last comment, no one said another word—for hours and hours, while the sun set and darkness spread over us like the dirt being shoveled on my fox.

Once she was done, we all went back inside the house and got cleaned up. Mom made spaghetti with chopped up hotdogs, and we waited for Dad. He didn’t get home until after we were already in bed, but I couldn’t sleep anyway, so I heard him come in.

Creeping to the crack in my bedroom door, I listened. When I heard the voices of my parents, I snuck out of my room and went to the top of the stairs. That was when the shouting began.

My parents fought constantly. My father was a quiet, stoic man. Emotionless and always serious. My mother, on the other hand, was flaky, emotional, and harebrained. To this day, I have no real idea why they would have gotten together. I know they say opposites attract, but that’s only if you enjoy the differences you and your partner possess. My parents seemed to hate everything about each other.

I listened to them fighting about the usual topics… My father asked my mother if she’d taken her pills, and she screamed at him about it, which I think meant she hadn’t. She called him ungrateful. Accused him of cheating. It was all pretty standard.

But then she said, “You know you’re fucking up your son, right?”

And he replied, “What the hell does that mean?”

“Felix. He brought home a dead animal today. Said he wanted to show it to you.”

I held my breath over my father’s silence.

It felt like many heavy minutes passed before he asked, “Did he kill it?”

“How would I know?” my mother snapped. “He’s out in the woods all the time… I wouldn’t be surprised.”

My brow furrowed, and I pinched my lower lip between my thumb and forefinger. I hadn’t killed the fox. I didn’t think I would have killed a fox…

But then my mind showed me something, like a movie with no sound.

A fox running through the woods. Me, hiding around the tree. Quiet. Undetected.

Just as he’s slowing down, I jump out from behind the tree and snap his neck.

He lies limp in my arms, like it did today.

My heart races.

I use a sharp knife to cut into his flesh. Blood oozes. I touch it with my fingers… The sight of deep red covering my pale skin flutters in my belly and I feel sick.

I like the feeling.

I don’t feel sad for the fox, though. After all, I get to keep him like this.

The sounds of footsteps coming up the stairs snapped me out of the trance, and I scurried back into my bedroom, jumping into bed beneath the covers. I laid still, pretending to be asleep, when I heard my father at the doorway. I could feel him looking in at me. But he said nothing.

He left me alone to dream of sharp blades and bloody fingers.

That was a waste of a lunch break…

I was actually hungry, too. But now the thought of eating turns my stomach.

Walking steadily along the sidewalk in downtown Atlanta, I reach my office building, slipping inside. Joe, the security guard, waves at me, but I barely acknowledge him, catching a put-off look on his face as I enter the elevator. He shouldn’t be surprised…

It’s not as if I’m a normally chatty person. And I detest social conventions like waving pleasantries every single time you see someone. I find it completely unnecessary and highly ridiculous. We know you exist. We just saw each other a few hours ago.

Just another way for human beings to validate themselves. To feel seen.

My cynical nature is casting a shadow over me, so I close my eyes and take a breath, counting to ten while the elevator brings me up up up, to the twentieth floor, where my office is located.

I’m just frustrated. Obviously, the lunch with Gabrielle is affecting my mood. Just one of the many reasons relationships tend to disrupt my emotional flow. I have my own things to deal with. Taking on the baggage of someone else just seems like inviting disaster.

But then, finding someone to love you is considered a baser human instinct. For some reason.

Exiting the elevator, I walk down the hall swiftly, lest I wind up cornered by someone else on my floor who wants to talk about the weather or some inane thing we have no control over. Pushing open the glass door to my practice, though, it’s unavoidable.

“Dr. Love!” My assistant, Emily, chirps, expressing her ever-present enthusiasm. I can’t for the life of me decipher where she gets it all. She must cry a lot at night. “Back so soon?”

“Yes.” I grunt the word while sorting through a few handwritten messages she’s taken for me on her desk. Two colleagues inquiring about events, and one patient who’s running late.

“How was your lunch with Gabrielle?” she asks.

My eyes lift from the notes in my hand to hers. I say nothing, just stare at her for three Mississippis before going back to my work.

You know, the thing we should actually be focusing on, rather than frivolous relationship conversation.

“Is this it?” I ask her, turning toward my office.

“Oh, sorry! There was one more I was just writing down, but I wanted to ask you about it first because the man didn’t give a phone number, which I thought was odd, you know, since the whole point of leaving a message is leaving a means of contact, otherwise how else are you supposed to reach them back, right?”

My eyes narrow at her. That was all on one goddamn breath. I’ve never heard someone spew words the way Emily does. It’s almost medically fascinating.

“What’s the name?” I ask her, about the message.

“Oh, darn…” She frowns, and my head cocks. “I seem to have written it down wrong. He said something about requesting your services, but then my pen died, and he told me his name while I was searching for another one, so I scribbled something, but now I can’t read it.”

She holds up a note with a bunch of nonsense on it. I blink at the note. Then at her. Then back at the note.

Is this really my life?

“So then… you actually have no note for me?” I ask her, fully serious, glaring at her until she cowers.

“I’m so sorry, Dr. Love. I promise, I’ll figure it out and get it to you! I swear it!” She begins examining the note closely, as if she’ll somehow decode the scribbles like hieroglyphics.

Letting out an audible sigh, I walk away. “Get Callahan on the line, please.”

“I’ll do that right away, Doctor!”

Entering my office, I close the door behind me while Emily is still speaking, cutting off her rambles. I’ve considered firing her, but that would make five assistants in the last two years, and those numbers are a bit staggering. I just can’t seem to find someone who meshes well with my personality. All the assistants I keep hiring as recommendations are far too chipper, when really all I need them for is work. That’s it.

I’m beginning to think my colleagues are doing it to me on purpose as a joke.

Hanging up my coat on the rack, I take a seat at my desk, powering on my computer monitor and clicking around my emails until Emily’s voice comes through the speaker.

“Dr. Love, I have Dr. Callahan for you on line one!”

I cringe, pressing the button and picking up my desk phone. “Callahan.”

“Love. How’s it going, pal?”

My teeth set. Here we go again.

“You called while I was at lunch?” I ignore his attempts at conversing and get to the point.

He sighs in my ear as if he’s displeased that I don’t want to tell him how it’s going. But again, I’m not sure why he’s surprised. We’ve known each other since med school. He knows how I am.

“Yea, I did. We’re having a fundraiser. Actually, more of a charity auction. In three weeks,” he tells me.

“I’ll send a check,” I mumble while skimming emails.

“Well, to be honest, we were hoping you’d attend,” he goes on. “I know Felicia wants to see you, and there will be a few more J.H. alumns there…”

Tuning him out, my mind drifts to thirty minutes ago. To sitting in the cafe with Gabrielle across from me.

“I just think we want different things…”

“That’s not exactly true.”

“I’m talking about what we truly want, Lem. You can act like this is what you want until you’re blue in the face, but I can tell it’s not.”

“I don’t see how that matters.”

“You never want to do the things I want to do. The benefits, the activities… It’s a part of this lifestyle. But you’re just… uninterested. In all of it.”

My fingers dig into my thigh beneath the table.

“What interests you, Lemuel…?”

“Love!” Callahan shouts in my ear, and I snap out of it. “Are you there??”

“Yes. Sorry.” I shake my head. “I’ll have to think about it. Send over the details.”

I hang up the phone and stare at my computer screen while minutes tick by. Gabrielle’s words ring through my brain, and as much as I try, I can’t seem to shake them.

Of course, I know she was right. I’ve never exactly been interested in the things people in my position are supposed to want… Like friends, relationships, chats and lunches, going to events and making small talk with fake people who live to impress. Throwing money around while sipping expensive champagne, schmoozing the medical community and talking about all the good we’re doing.

That’s not why I got into this. I’m not my father, or his father. No matter how much they wish I was.

“Dr. Love,” Emily squeaks over the speaker again. “I have your mother on the line.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake…

Taking a deep breath, I mumble, “Put her through.”

My line rings and I pick it up reluctantly. “Mother.”

“Good afternoon, Lemuel,” Vera’s voice comes over the line in her standard tone. All business, no fondness.

“How are you doing?” I ask, because I know if I don’t, I’ll be chastised to no end.

“I’m well,” she replies. “I wanted to make sure you’re still coming for dinner on Saturday.”

My eyes close, and my head drops forward. I forgot about dinner this weekend…

“Mother, I’m actually very busy…”

“You work too much,” she scolds. As if she doesn’t also work too much.

We all do. Work is a personality trait in our family.

“Your father and I would like you to come to dinner on Saturday, as agreed,” she goes on, the dissatisfaction working its way through her words. “Your grandfather will be here as well.”

Of course he will.

Sucking it up, I murmur, “Sure. I’ll be there. Should I bring anything?”

“Just Gabrielle,” my mother adds, and I can hear that taunting smirk in her voice. “We’re all quite excited to spend more time with her. See you this weekend, Lemuel. Six p.m. sharp.”

And then she hangs up.

Releasing my death grip on the phone receiver, I place it down, pressing the intercom button to bark at Emily. “Hold my calls.”

She doesn’t respond, which is good. As much as she drives me insane, she can certainly read my tones by now. And that one was a not in the fucking mood.

I stare at my desk for a minute before standing up and walking to the full-length window behind me, displaying the view of Atlanta. My office has me high enough that I can see a bit of the skyline, buildings scattered all over this metropolis we call home. I can see my apartment from here.

I’ve lived in Atlanta since I graduated from medical school, only a year prior to me opening my own practice. I prefer the city life to the suburbs, like those I grew up in. Where my parents still live.

Where I’ll be going on Saturday, I suppose.

My eyes scan the hustle and bustle of the city beneath me while I consider the extreme duress I’ll be putting myself through this weekend. Showing up without Gabrielle will leave me open to a myriad of prying questions I really have no interest in discussing, especially with my family. Add this to the constant berating about my career path of choice, and this little dinner will most definitely become a pile-on-Lem party, something I would really rather not endure.

But then I don’t have much of a choice. I don’t get home to see my family all that often, which they consider rude, since I work and live only a half-hour away. You’d think I have no earthly desire to spend time with them…

Gazing out at the buildings, I consider what I might say to them, about Gabrielle. What I could tell them about why she’s not with me… If I was inclined to lie, I might. It would certainly be easier than dealing with the unenthused scolding I’ll be listening to all night when they find out we’re no longer an item.

But lying about it is pointless. After all, I’m used to disappointing them. What’s one more?

Checking my watch, I see that it’s about time for my next appointment, though Trevel had called to say he’d be five minutes late. I hate tardiness with a passion, but Trevel is never late, so I’ll give him a pass. Just this once.

I slink back to my desk and have a seat, taking out his file to freshen up on our last visit. I look over my charts and his progress. It’s decent, all things considered.

I first met Trevel Fenwick three years ago when I was volunteering at Riverwoods, an in-patient psychiatric facility nearby. I used to go there twice a week and see patients with extreme mental illness. My patients were typically under suicide watch, or those who had been committed in lieu of serving jail time. Trevel is one of a few from Riverwoods I still see now, on an outpatient sort of basis. But I will say that I miss being in the hospital setting from time to time.

It’s where my interests lie. With patients who have committed crimes in the name of things only they can understand. It fascinates me. It’s the main reason I went into clinical psychology. It’s been my dream to study what makes human beings commit heinous acts since I was a teenager…

My throat is suddenly very dry, and I try to swallow, but it doesn’t work. I reach for my metal water bottle on my desk, uncapping it and taking a long sip. The cool refreshment feels good, helping to push away the things that were sneaking up. Absentmindedly, my fingers slide to my throat and brush the uneven flesh.

“Dr. Love, Trevel is here!” Emily squeaks, my eyes snapping back into focus.

I take another quick sip of water, before muttering, “Send him in.”

Only a moment later, the tall, dark-haired man glides into my office, immediately having a seat in the chair across the room. Joining him, notepad in hand, I sit across from him in my chair. I watch him carefully as he sinks into his seat, getting himself comfortable.

“Trevel,” I address him, and his lips quirk into a pleasant smile. It’s interesting to see, considering how angry he used to be when I first met him. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling great, actually,” he replies, eloquent diction spoken in a British accent. Even if he wasn’t smart, the way he speaks would certainly fool you into thinking he was. “No nightmares all week.” He crosses his fingers together.

I nod and make a note. My eyes dart to his. “Tell me about the person you’ve been seeing.”

He shifts. “Right. Well, we’ve had three dates now.” His eyes fall to his lap, which is usually what happens when he’s unsure about telling me something. I simply sit quietly in wait. “I like them a lot… But I’m nervous.”

“Nervous?”

“They want to get physical…” he mumbles, his eyes flinging up to mine. “They’re begging for it, in fact.” My head tilts as he leans forward and whispers, “I’m afraid the medication won’t be enough.” I nod slowly. “What if it doesn’t stop me from… hurting them?”

We’re both quiet for a moment before I take in a breath, then let it out slowly. “I’m going to be painfully honest with you, Trevel.”

“Wouldn’t expect any less.” He huffs.

“There isn’t a medication in the world that would stop you from doing what your mind commands you to do. There are things that can dull you, sure. Then there are things like your current meds, which help to tweak your brain chemistry. But regardless, you are still you. You’ll need to understand that. Going into any relationship, after what’s happened to you, and what you’ve done, will be extremely difficult.”

His indigo eyes glisten, his forehead lining dismally. “Please tell me there’s a but following that little gem of wisdom.”

“I’m not so sure, unfortunately,” I tell him honestly. “There is no real way to know if your nightmares will manifest themselves into a reality or not. You’ve shown exceptional signs of mental growth and stability since you were in Riverwoods, but the fact remains…”

“So it’s like a waiting game?” He scoffs and rubs his eyes. “Why am I even trying, then?”

I can do nothing but stare at him.

He stands up and begins pacing. “Sometimes I think…” He stops, then shakes his head.

“Think what, Trevel?”

He comes to a halt and looks down at me. His eyes have gone dark, and when he speaks again, his voice has changed. It’s deeper, husky and lined with something like strained curiosity.

“Sometimes,” he says with our eyes locked, “I think about just giving in to it. The inevitable.”

A chill washes over my flesh.

But not one of fear.

Never of fear, no. Not for a long, long time.

This is my truth, after all. My elicit, morbid fascination.

Exhausted and sweaty, I wait for the elevator to take me back up to my penthouse apartment. I got home from the office an hour ago and came straight to the building’s gym for a workout. Exercise is something I can say I sincerely enjoy. Often times, the physical strain on my body is the only way to decompress my mind, though I won’t say it shuts my thoughts up completely.

Tonight, I’ve had my session with Trevel lingering in there. Even though I saw two patients after him, his words stuck with me, as they tend to.

All of my patients are severely troubled in some fashion. It’s just the nature of what I do; my training and my profession. I don’t like to toot my own horn, so to speak, but I’m one of the most sought-after psychiatrists in the country, specializing in behavioral studies, treating patients with severe mental illness. My shelves are lined with awards in my field of research. I’ve written books—not all of them renowned, but that’s another thing.

Even so, Trevel Fenwick is one of the more intriguing cases of my career as a clinical researcher, and by far my most interesting patient.

He was sexually abused as a child, by both of his biological parents. His childhood trauma is extremely disturbing. It definitely helped me grow my bearings as a researcher only a few years out of John’s Hopkins, because damn…

Just reading about his past has the potential to stir up a lot of unpleasant emotions.

When he was eleven, Trevel ran away from his home in the UK and became a transient, eventually making his way to the States, where he began a five-year career as an underage sex worker.

When he was sixteen, in New York, Trevel was raped by a group of men. Once he recovered from the injuries sustained during the attack, he tracked down all four men and killed them, brutally. One by one.

He was convicted of only two charges of first-degree murder—there wasn’t enough evidence to link him to all four deaths. Being that he was underage, he was able to gain citizenship and served two years in a juvenile detention center before he was sent to an institution in Connecticut, eventually being relocated to Riverwoods right here in Georgia, which is where I met him.

Needless to say, I was immediately captivated by Trevel. For someone with no more than a basic elementary education, he’s smart as hell. Well-read, well-spoken. He can converse for hours about art and music, recites Shakespeare and Dickens. All self-taught.

But it’s more than that. My interest in Trevel is about his crimes, and his desire to stray from his biology. It’s one of the more captivating nature-versus-nurture debates…

If it hadn’t been for Trevel’s horrible upbringing, and all the atrocities he’s experienced, would he have felt inclined to kill those men?

Many people say no. They believe, undoubtedly, that Trevel Fenwick is a victim of circumstance.

I, on the other hand, am here to challenge that notion.

It’s very possible that what happened to him is what brought his emotional abnormalities to the surface, like sunlight and water feeding a seedling, growing it into a strong and sturdy weed. But I personally believe that the seed itself was already there, planted in his mind at birth. Hidden away, just waiting.

And based on what Trevel said today, in our session, I think despite his attempts at weeding what lives inside him for years, it may just sprout up again.

“Hey, Lem.”

A familiar female voice pulls me out of my head, and I dip my chin to find Cynthia Banks standing beside me, dabbing her forehead with a towel from around her neck.

“Cynthia,” I respond as the elevator dings and the doors open.

We step inside together, both reaching for the buttons at the same time, and sharing awkward apologies before I press hers, then mine. I admit to the tension, and I take responsibility for it. After all, I know the source.

I haven’t called her since the last time we slept together.

I know, I know. I violated the cardinal rule of don’t shit where you eat, and slept with someone who lives in my building. Bad idea. But Cynthia is attractive, interested, and we’d both agreed it would just be a casual stress-reliever of sorts.

Like exercise, which we also both enjoy.

Unfortunately, the way she’s shifting next to me right now, twirling her hair and peeking at me subtly, leads me to believe I might have screwed myself more than her.

“We should get together again,” she says, and my eyes tumble down the many inches separating us in height. “Last time was fun.”

My head does a little bob, but that’s about it. And we ride the rest of the way in silence.

When the doors open for her floor, she shoots me a quick, rather salacious look and purrs, “Maybe stop by later. I’ll be up.”

I blink as the doors close.

A few floors up, I exit, making my way into my apartment, all the while considering Cynthia’s bold request. I won’t say the sex wasn’t good, because it definitely was. It’s just that what I’m looking for is infinitely more casual than what any of my female companions seem interested in.

In the comfort of my own mind, I can confess… What I truly want is someone to come to me when she wants to be drilled into the mattress, without the unnecessary dates or elaborate invitations, and then once we’re both satisfied, they leave without a word.

You try saying that to a woman, I dare you.

And yes, I know exactly how misogynistic I sound. But that’s what I want. I can’t help it. Relationships have never appealed to me much, and when it comes to sex, well… I like to have fun with it. And the fun has a tendency to end as soon as we get off.

Everyone always says, maybe you just haven’t met the right woman yet. And that could be true. But I’m not even sure I want to try.

A flash behind my eyes causes me to falter on my way to the shower.

“Oh, God… Lemuel! It’s not how it looks!”

I rub my eyes hard with my fingers.

Circumstance only takes us so far…

Turning on the shower, I pull my shirt over my head. But before I can shove my basketball shorts down, my cell phone rings in the pocket.

Pulling it out, I check the screen. It says Unknown.

I hate answering calls for unknown numbers, but because of my work, I prefer not to screen. So I swipe to answer.

“Lemuel Love,” I say by way of greeting, leaving my phone on the bathroom counter, since I still have my AirPods in.

“Hello, Doctor! My name is Yari Estevez, and I’m calling you with a business proposition.”

I’m thrown off for a moment. I rarely get business calls after hours. And it’s late… Almost ten-thirty.

“I’m sorry… I’m not in the office. If you’d like, I can call you back tomorrow—”

“My employer would prefer to speak with you right away, if possible,” the man says. “I apologize for the hour.”

“Who’s your employer?” I ask, bemused by everything about this call.

“I have him on the line right now if you’re ready.”

“Uh… Sure?” I pace out of the bathroom and toward the living room.

“One moment, please.” I hear a click, and then the man—Yari—says, “All set, boss.”

“Thank you, Yari.” A new, much smoother voice comes over the line. “Dr. Lemuel Love… you’re a hard man to reach.”

My mouth hangs open for a second while I remember the note Emily fucked up earlier. “Yes, well… My assistant—I’m sorry, who is this?”

“My name is Manuel Blanco. I operate a facility in New York, and well, I’ll get right to the point. I would like you to come work for me on a specific job for which I believe you’re the perfect candidate.”

I’m stunned, which doesn’t happen often. I’m just standing in my living room staring at the wall…

Manuel Blanco? Facility in New York?

“What type of facility?” I ask, then shake my head. “This is highly irregular, Mr. Blanco. I’m not currently looking for work, and I’m in Atlanta. How did you get my number?”

“If you agree to our terms, I can give you more information, Doctor,” Mr. Blanco answers, speaking calmly, his tone rather mysterious. “But to answer your question, I’ve been following your career for quite some time. I’m a big fan of your book.”

I blink a few times. “Oh… Are you in the psychology field?”

“No, no.” He chuckles. “But I have a pertinent interest. Your book, your research, and your accolades brought me to the belief that you may be right for this job I’m offering.”

“Oh? And why would you think that?” I’m flattered, and a bit intrigued, though I shouldn’t be. This could be Callahan messing with me.

“The… subjects I hold in my facility could be right up your alley,” he says, and for some reason I can hear a smirk in his voice, even though I’ve never seen him before.

Something about what he’s said makes me think…

“Which of my books are you referring to, Mr. Blanco?”

The line is quiet for a moment before he answers, “Beneficial Brainwashing.”

I almost gasp.

My fingers tremble, and my pulse speeds up. “How did you…?”

“I have my ways, Dr. Love,” he answers my question before I’ve even asked it. “As I mentioned, I believe this job may be perfect for you.”

Perfect for me… Not, I’ll be perfect for it.

My muscles are tense as I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Blanco. I’m not interested.”

And I hang up the phone, powering it off immediately.

Staggering around my living room, my mind sifts frantically through the conversation. How on earth anyone would link me to that book is baffling. No one knows I wrote it, and rightfully so, because if they did, I’m sure my reputation would bleed out and die in minutes.

I wrote it eight years ago, just out of Johns Hopkins and doing a lot of behavioral and criminal psych research, expanding on my morbid curiosities into things that haven’t been accepted in the medical community in decades. I published it independently and used the pen name Dr. Melvin Strange, a nonsensical idiom I made up.

Basically, I didn’t write the book for any sort of fame or attention. Rather, I just wanted to get my thoughts out there, without having to tie them to Lemuel Love, PhD.

It’s been years since I’ve even thought about the book… Until now. Until this stranger just brought it up to me, claiming that he’s a big fan of it.

And because of that book, he thinks I would want to take some job at this facility he operates?

It’s all just so strange.

That said, I can’t deny my intrigue. And after the interesting session with Trevel today, I can’t help but admire the timing of the call…

Behavioral studies of killers is my primary interest. And over the years, with my practice and the pressures of my parents and colleagues, I’ve sort of veered away from it. Yes, I still deal with complex patients, but Trevel is the only one who’s actually killed someone. Multiple someones.

When I first read Mindhunter, I remember thinking, yes. This is what I want to do. I want to speak directly with people who have taken lives, and not by accident. I mean human beings who have willfully murdered their fellow humans and lived to tell the tale.

Just thinking about it now sheets my skin with chills and twists my stomach into a knot.

Remembering my shower, I wander back to the bathroom, popping out the AirPods and stripping the rest of the way. But before I step inside, I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror.

The slightly discolored skin on my throat… Faded over time, but still visible. In my eyes, it still looks just like it did all those years ago.

And I see myself as I was back then…

A boy, on the cusp of becoming a man. Younger, weaker. Both physically and mentally.

Easy prey.

And prey he did. But he didn’t get me.

Because circumstance will only take you so far…

The rest is up to impulse.

I think I’m dying.

That would be rich, wouldn’t it? After everything I’ve done, and I end up meeting my maker from starvation and dehydration in a cement hole in the middle of the ocean…

Maybe it’s fitting. Maybe this is what I deserve.

In fact, I’m sure it is. But even now… Even rotting in the dark, dank cell of solitary confinement where I’ve been for five weeks now, give or take, I can’t locate any of that illustrious remorse inside of myself.

It’s just not there… That sensation like Bigfoot, I’ve been hunting since Emmanuel… Everyone tells me it’s one of the most human of emotions. But I don’t have it.

I’m not so sure I even want it. I think I’d rather live the rest of my likely brief existence blissfully unaware. Isn’t that what they always say? I’d rather be stupid and happy than hold the knowledge of the world and its misery.

Well, I don’t think I’m very happy right now either.

Curling up on the rickety cot in the corner of my cell, I hug myself, trying to keep warm. It’s freezing down here in the dungeon. I believe it’s almost spring outside right now, but I have to rely on my memories of the season, since I’ve been locked up and without a window for months.

Closing my eyes, I drift back to the day I was ripped out of my regular cell and dumped down here in solitary…

Today’s the day.

Ivan Wilkerson is going to die.

I’d grappled with it, for all of five seconds. After all, I begged and pleaded for some human contact. Isn’t killing him sort of defeating the purpose?

But I just can’t help it…

Not only am I sort of desperate for it, not having taken a life in over four months at this point, but Wilkerson is also just such a raving piece of shit. He’s not a good conversationalist at all, which I suppose I could overlook if he had any other redeeming qualities. But he doesn’t. He quite literally sucks at life.

So I’m going to take it from him, since he doesn’t deserve it anyway.

The thought alone has my adrenaline bumping. When I was first caught and sent to prison, I thought momentarily that it might set me free, so to speak. Free from the urges that have defined me for so long. Maybe it would be like rehab and I could finally stop…

But as it turns out, I really don’t want to. I’m physically dying to take this asshole’s last breath, and then take this dull piece of metal I worked off the bunk bed I’m sitting on and carve up his face. I’ve already decided on the expression I’m going for.

I want to make Ivan Wilkerson look upset. I’m going to carve his mouth into a pout because he’s such a whiny bitch. All I’ve heard from him in the last two days is about how he doesn’t understand why he’s even here.

He’s been raping young kids for years. The last one died. But to him, that was just like a workplace hazard? An operational incident?

God, how hard my eyes rolled last night when he was complaining. It definitely reaffirmed my need to wipe him off the face of the earth. Not that I’m necessarily trying to save humanity from him… I’m no superhero and he’s stuck in here, regardless. But every time he mentions his victims, all I can see Cam’s face. I see his scared eyes, the bruises on his arms…

I remember that he left because of someone like this asshole above me, and I want to kill a million more Ivan Wilkersons.

If Cam hadn’t left, then maybe I wouldn’t have turned out like this…

Shaking off that thought, I swallow down the excess saliva filling my mouth. None of that matters anymore. Cam would’ve found some other reason to leave me like everyone else does…

And I’m a monster, not a martyr.

Wilkerson’s loud snores yank me out of my thoughts, and my teeth set. Sliding off my bunk, I carefully climb up to his. I’m on top of him quick, kneeling with all my body weight on his arms by the time he’s waking up.

“What the f—” he tries to bark, but before he can get out the last word, my hands are around his throat.

I know I probably won’t be able to kill him this way, but I just need to disorient him enough to get the upper hand. Many of my larger victims take one look at me and assume there’s no way I could overpower them, since I don’t have huge hulking muscles. But strength isn’t all about bulk.

I’ve spent years training my body for what I do. That’s what my pal Ivan is realizing right now while his frantic eyes bulge. His face is all red, and he’s trying to yell, but it’s not working with my hands taking away his air. His flailing begins to slow, eyelids drooping.

Once they do, I shift off of him, then roll him off the bunk bed. He falls onto the floor with a thud, and when I climb down, I see that he landed on his head. That’s convenient.

He’s unconscious, but I grab him by the neck and bash his skull on the floor a few times for good measure. I hear that familiar crack over the rushing in my ears, and I release him. Sucking in a long breath, my eyes close, and I take a moment to revel in it. The freedom.

I’m awake. My heart, my mind, my body. They’re all connected.

Reopening my eyes, I push my glasses up my nose and observe my thirty-sixth victim. He’s dead as fuck. I don’t even need to check his pulse to make sure. But still, I straddle him and feel his throat.

“You’re still warm,” I tell him, biting my lip. “I like it.”

The blood oozing from the crack in his skull is making a giant puddle. My stomach twists into a knot while I watch it, transfixed. Without even noticing, I’ve begun humming one of my favorite songs.

Removing my scrap metal from my pants, I lay Wilkerson out flat and touch his face. There’s blood everywhere, coming from his mouth, nose, eyes. He’s very bloody.

Tears For Fears lyrics are on my lips as I bring the metal to his face and begin carving him. I’m zoned in on my movements. It’s been so long since I’ve done this…

“Lee,” I whisper the name while scraping my metal into his skin. It’s messy as hell since the thing is not very sharp. But still, it’s working to hold my attention. “He was like you. You might remember him as the star on the Rockefeller Tree.” I stop and giggle. “And a star he was. Front-page headlines for months.” My smile turns upside down while I hack up Wilkerson’s face. “Maybe that’s why I’m here… I got too cocky. I’m usually a very humble person. But the attention from Lee’s display went to my head. And then, well… You know.”

Letting out a long sigh, I feel my mood has shifted. And it’s all Lee’s fault. Thinking about him pisses me off. He was such a piece of shit.

Brushing my hair from my eyes, I stand up slowly. Looking over the floor of the cell, I see that almost half of it is covered in thick red. Velle’s going to be mad.

That thought brings a new small smirk of satisfaction as I drop my weapon and go back to my bunk. Lying down, I stare up at the bottom of the top mattress.

I suppose human contact is overrated.

Shaking, I curl up tighter, thinking back to how angry Velle was when he found Wilkerson’s dead body. He had that large blonde tattooed guard bring me down here to solitary… I think his name is Kemper. I remember him from when I first arrived. He used to bring me to the cafeteria and feed me.

Warmth settles in my gut at the memory. He always smelled so good, and he had this deep voice that would ring in my brain for hours after he’d put me back.

Rolling onto my stomach, I grind into the mattress a little. My dick is hardening up from all the reminiscing. Blood and carving and sexy deep-voiced guards with tattoos and big bulging biceps.

A soft breath escapes me while I press my hips into the bed harder. It’s working to warm me up, that’s for sure. And the ache in my balls is reminding me of how long it’s been since I had sex.

“Jesus Christ…” I grumble under my breath.

I haven’t gotten laid in like six months. It’s not completely crazy, since I’ve never been an overly sexual being. My enjoyment of sex typically relies on the other party. Ever since I lost my virginity in a spectacularly underwhelming fashion in college, I’ve always sort of been left wanting more.

I can count on one hand how many times I’ve gotten those tickly stomach flutters… The ones that travel down into your loins and spread all over your body. The ones that have you craving, salivating, down on your knees, begging and pleading for whatever the other person wants to give you.

Huffing out of frustration, I flop over onto my side, giving up. My erection will go away if I just ignore it, I’m sure.

The sound of a loud door slamming distracts me, and I sit up on my elbows. I hate how much my excitement spikes at the prospect of food and water. I haven’t eaten in at least a full day and almost three before that. Stomach grumbling has become the soundtrack to my life.

But I can’t be concerned with any of that right now because the clunking footsteps are accompanied by that familiar shuffle.

They’re bringing someone else down here.

Sure enough, I hear the door to the cell right next to mine open, and someone is deposited inside. Whoever dropped him off leaves without giving me anything to eat or drink, which is devastating, but I ignore it and listen closely to the sounds of my new neighbor.

I think he’s pacing, which goes on for a while. I actually drift off to sleep with my ear up to the wall, and wake to a light thunk, like he’s banging his head on the concrete we share.

For some reason, my lips curve as I press my palm flat on the cold, rough surface. He begins cursing up a storm, and I chuckle. I’m surprised that I can hear him so well through the wall. Although I think everything echoes in this shabby old tomb.

“Sounds about right,” I mutter to him.

“Who’s there?” he asks me frantically, and my smile widens.

I reposition so that I’m sitting facing the wall. “Tell me your name first.”

“I don’t need to tell you shit,” he grunts petulantly.

He sounds like a stubborn brat, but his voice is already irresistible. Even through the wall, the sound is like seductive music.

“Well, yea. I know you don’t need to,” I tell him. “But you should.”

“Why’s that?” he asks, still clearly holding on to his shields.

“Because you’re gonna start to go a little nuts in here. Talking to someone can definitely help.”

And it’s in my own selfish interest to keep him talking, too.

“Well, I haven’t told you my name yet and you’re still talking to me.” There’s some minor triumph in his tone.

It pulls a tiny breath of laughter out of me. “You’ve bested me, mystery man. Congratulations.”

“I’m proud,” he replies. “How long have you been in here?”

Keeping quiet, I settle into the mattress and fold my arms over my chest. Because he’s not the only brat in the dungeon.

A moment goes by before he says, “No response? That’s cool. You don’t have to answer that, I guess…”

I grin to myself. He’s kind of sweet. Blinking at the wall, I wonder what he looks like.

Another couple of minutes go by before he mutters, “The silent treatment. Real mature.”

I cover my mouth to make sure he doesn’t hear me chuckling. I’m so going to win this game, sexy stranger. I’ll get you to tell me your name, and then we’ll be best friends.

Hopefully, he doesn’t end up sucking like dead old Ivan Wilkerson.

More minutes, and my mystery man’s voice shivers, “Is it always this freezing in here?”

I nod, but say nothing. And I can’t tell for sure, but I think he called me a stubborn prick.

My grin beams while I lie back down on my side, the exhaustion of starvation and dehydration setting in. My eyelids are heavy as I watch the wall separating us, wondering so much about my new friend.

Is he tall? Is his hair soft? Does he smell good?

Does he have muscles? Tattoos? Does he like 80’s music?

Did his parents love him? Does the sight of blood give him the tingles like it does to me?

I wonder so many things about him, I eventually fall asleep. Nothing happens, though. I still haven’t dreamt since before I was arrested… Even with the sex-voiced stranger on the other side of the wall hijacking my brain.

I wake up at the sound of his voice. He said hello, but I don’t think he was talking to me. He sounds farther away, like he’s looking out the door to his cell. Sitting up, I hope maybe they’re bringing some food or water. But I don’t hear anyone. No footsteps, no keys, no doors.

Just silence and my next-door stranger pacing. He comes back to the wall and starts humming a song. Crimson and Clover. He’s singing it in between talking to himself, and it’s just as entertaining as speaking with him, to be honest. Listening while he names lists of things is certainly helping to pass the time.

I think hours have gone by the time he raps tiredly on the wall and says, “My name’s Dash.”

Biting down on my lip to contain my sleepy smile, I close my eyes. Dash. His name is sexy, too.

“Glad you came around,” I tell him. “I’m Felix.”

Dash is quiet for a moment before he says, “Felix… I’m gonna need you to distract me. I’m sorta freaking out in here.”

I choose not to tell him he doesn’t know the half of it. I don’t want to upset him.

“I can do that,” I breathe. “Do you like sports?”

“Sort of,” he tells me. “I’m Russian, so I like hockey and soccer most.”

I chuckle. “Are those sports that Russians like?”

“I guess,” he laughs. “My dad liked them.”

“I think soccer is okay. What about football?”

“It’s alright, but New York football teams are bullshit.”

“Agreed,” I chuckle. “The Giants are decent, I guess. But I’m from Connecticut, so I’m supposed to like the Patriots.”

“Let’s move on from that, Felix. I want to like you.” I can hear the smile in his voice, and it has me inching closer to the wall.

My fingers brush the concrete separating us. “Do you speak Russian?”

“Mhm.” My dick twitches hard just from him grunting those two syllables.

Licking my lip, I remind myself to chill. Typical Felix, getting swept up in a total stranger.

Hasn’t this always been the issue? You’re fucking desperate…

I scoff at my own inner scolding and ask, “Will you say something in Russian?”

Dash is quiet for a moment before he says, “Eto real’naya zhizn’ eto prosto fantastika?”

I pinch my lower lip between my fingers. “What does it mean?”

“It’s the first line of Bohemian Rhapsody.” He laughs out loud.

I snort, and we both end up giggling for thirty seconds. “Caught in a landslide… no escape from reality?”

He cackles. Then says, “Otkroy svoi glaza, vzglyani na nebo i uvidish’.”

I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe. “You have to sing it, though!”

And he does. He fucking sings the lyrics to the most famous Queen song ever in fucking Russian. Holy crap, this guy is so cool.

I’m suddenly eager as hell to ask him if he likes boys. But I don’t want to scare him away if he’s straight. Plus, what would it mean, anyway? What am I going to do, date someone through a wall?

He’ll just leave you, Felix. They all try to leave. Haven’t you learned this by now?? It’s like you’re willfully stupid or something.

My laughter fades and my smile falls off at my thoughts. They’re right, they always are. This is my issue, my infinite curse.

They’re pretending to care about you. They’ll never love you because they don’t want to.

“How about you?” Dash asks, and I glance up at the wall. “Do you speak any other languages?”

“Spanish,” I tell him quietly, feeling insecure and dismal all of a sudden. “Some French and Mandarin…”

My mind drifts to Lin. Number six. He taught me some phrases when we were still enjoying each other’s company. Before he inevitably told me he wanted to leave. And I wrapped a zip tie around his neck…

“That’s cool,” Dash chirps, with no idea of the storm raging in my mind right now. “But can you sing Bohemian Rhapsody?”

Against my will, my lips curl. I like this guy a lot…

Bringing my hand to the wall, my fingertips hesitantly touch the cool, jagged surface, wishing it was the warm, smooth skin of his face.

He won’t love you, Felix.

None of them will.

Felix Harmon Darcey

Age: Fourteen

Location: Ridgefield, CT

I used to hang out with these kids from our neighborhood in Ridgefield. They lived three houses down in our little cul-de-sac… Cameron and Cassie Kline.

They were twins, and we were all the same age. They moved to our neighborhood when we were all six, so we sort of grew up together.

They didn’t have a mother. She died when they were very small. It was just them and their dad… Tom.

Thomas Kline was an investment banker in Manhattan. After his wife died, he was able to reduce the number of hours he worked so he could take care of Cam and Cassie more. From what I remember, he still went into the city, like, once a week. But other than that, he was always home.

I thought nothing of it. I mean, he wasn’t my dad… Though it seemed strange to me, the concept of a father always being around. Taking such an interest in his children. My father wasn’t like that at all.

To get any sort of engagement with my own father was a rarity, one I began to treasure. To covet…

I wondered why my father didn’t pay as much attention to me and Zach that Tom did to Cam and Cassie. I assumed it was because of my mother. He hated her, and so, in turn, he hated being around us.

Cam and Cassie were lucky their mother had died.

I remember one day, the three of us were riding bikes. Cam was showing off, as usual. He was so good at everything, sports in particular. I couldn’t stop watching him as he popped wheelies on his bike, skidding the tires in one-eighties, launching himself up onto the curb.

He looked so good doing it… Like a professional, I suppose. But also, the way the veins in his forearms popped, his shaggy blonde hair falling in his eyes, the prominent dimples that were always on display around his mouth. Cam smiled a lot. He laughed a lot, too. And I’d become enamored with how it made him look…

I was spending so much time hypnotized by him, in fact, that I somehow lost my balance and fell right off my bike. I wiped the hell out, landing on my ass with my hands down, scraping the shit out of my palms. It hurt like a bitch, but I was more concerned about the bike. I knew my mom would pitch a fit if I messed up the bike they’d just got me, which would displease my father. And we couldn’t have that.

“Yo, Darcey! You okay??” Cameron shouted as he and Cassie raced back toward me.

Cassie, the quieter of the two, hopped off first and rushed to my side. She looked concerned for me, and I appreciated it. But the attention I needed, deep in my gut, was from her twin brother.

Cam dropped to his knees as I pretended I was fine, brushing myself off and pushing my glasses back up my nose. I was in pain, sure, but I couldn’t let Cam know that. He was so tough, ballsy in a way that I’d never been. I admired it. I wanted it… Maybe I wanted to be like that. But I also sort of wanted to be around it.

I lusted after it.

“I’m good,” I grumbled. But then Cam grabbed my hand, and I froze, like a deer in headlights.

He lifted my hand to check the scrapes, then turned to Cassie. “Go grab the first aid kit.”

“I… I think I’m fine.” My voice came out gravelly and quiet. I hated how I sounded, but I couldn’t get over how amazing it felt to have him touching me… Holding my hand.

And I couldn’t stop staring at his face. The curves and slopes of his pointed nose and pouty lips, the carved jaw, and those damn dimples.

At that point, I knew I’d never be attracted to girls. It just wasn’t in my makeup.

I’d been trying to figure myself out for years… Looking at the girls at school and wondering if I could ever kiss them. Checking out nudie mags… The first time I looked at a Playboy, I was thirteen. It did nothing for me, but I just assumed it was because I was too young or something. Maybe I was still developing.

But in this moment, knowing for a fact that Cassie was into me—the way she looked at me, smiled and laughed at everything I said, even when it wasn’t funny, it was painfully obvious—I knew I could never date her. Because she wasn’t him.

“You’re bleeding,” Cam whispered, gazing at a cut on my palm with a distinct red dribble running down.

I watched the blood move myself, a tight burning in my lower stomach from the sight. And the feel of Cam’s warm skin touching mine. His smell surrounding me… It was overwhelming. But I couldn’t deny that I liked it. A lot.

Suddenly, he lifted my hand in his and lapped up the dribble of blood with his tongue.

I was fucking shocked. Stunned that he had done it, but also more turned on than I’d ever been in my entire life. There was a hard jerk that happened in my pants at the feel of his wet tongue tracing the line of my blood, and it took everything I had not to openly moan. I think I sort of did… I soft sound escaped me.

Our eyes connected, and then I noticed that there was a dull red on his bottom lip. From my blood.

Even now, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to kiss someone as badly as I did in that moment.

But Cameron simply grinned at me, winked, and stood, hoisting me up by my arm. We stood next to each other, him casually unaware of how crazy he was driving me, and me spinning and whirling through images of him licking up my blood, and me licking his…

I cleared my throat as Cassie rushed over with the first aid kit.

“Your bike’s a little more scraped up than you are,” Cam said, examining my bike while Cassie cleaned up my hand and put a Band-Aid on me.

“My dad’s gonna be pissed,” I mumbled, so many emotions flooding my system I could barely even think straight.

Cam looked over the bike some more, then straightened. “Let’s trade, then.”

My brow furrowed at him. “Huh?”

“We have the same bike, and mine’s in perfect condition,” he said in that amiable tone of his. As if everything in the world was just so simple. It was specific to Cam, and I really loved it. I loved how willing he was to solve people’s problems… mine in particular.

He’d always been like that. To be fair, he was like that with everyone, but of course, when he did it for me, I chose to interpret it as some secret feelings for me he could have been harboring. I couldn’t even count how many times he’d made up excuses, taking the blame for things we’d done so that I wouldn’t get in trouble. Countless times he’d defended me, when the other kids at school would call me four-eyes, weirdo, or Freaky Felix… make fun of me and laugh as they knocked books out of my hands in the halls.

Cam would tell them to get bent. He stood up for me against the jocks, because he got along with everyone. He would tell them I was cool until they laid off. It was just the kind of guy he was. He was always there because Cameron Kline was just a generally selfless person. A person who enjoyed taking the problems of others into his sculpted hands and making them his own, just to make their lives a little easier.

He was perfect.

Gaping at him with wide eyes, I asked, “Won’t your dad know?”

“Nah.” He shook his head. “He doesn’t care about stuff like that.”

“Wow…” I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. “You guys are lucky your dad is so awesome. I wish my dad was like that…”

“No, you don’t,” Cassie snapped. The sound of it came out of nowhere, reminding me that she was even there. I looked at her, brow lifting in confusion at her sharp words. Her eyes darted to Cam, and they shared a look I couldn’t quite interpret. “I just mean, he’s not perfect.”

Her face bowed, and her eyes stayed on her shoes. There was something strange in the way she was acting… They both seemed a bit clammed up all of a sudden. Just because I mentioned their dad and said he was awesome.

At the time, I remember thinking it was odd. But of course, I wouldn’t find out exactly why they were behaving so strangely for another two years…

“I know he’s not perfect,” I replied. “But at least he spends time with you guys. I’d give anything for my dad to—”

“No, you wouldn’t, Felix!” Cam barked at me, cutting my words off in my throat. “Just drop it, okay? Our dad is just… whatever.” He breathed out hard and rubbed his eyes. It was then that I noticed some specific bruises around his bicep. They looked like fingerprints… “Take the bike, okay? You need help bringing it to your garage?”

I blinked at him, our eyes holding one another’s gaze for what felt like hours. I could see so many things in the rings of brown and green in his irises… But the one I focused on was the fear. It sat in my chest; parked itself there and stayed for a long time. Honestly, I think it might still be there.

The fear he felt is the same that I’ve caused in so many others over the years… And I’ve been conflicted about it. I thrive on that fear at times… Other times, I despise it.

It’s my curse. Loving and hating myself at the same time.

I finally shook my head at Cam’s question, and he bent to pick up my bike, walking it back toward their house without so much as a goodbye. When I looked at Cassie, her eyes met mine, pleading for some sort of understanding before she went for her bike, following solemnly after her brother.

I stood in the street for a few minutes, wondering what was going on. Thinking about my only two friends and their father. My own father… my family.

So many strange thoughts flittered about in my brain while I picked up Cam’s bike and walked it to my driveway. I wheeled it into the garage and popped down the kickstand. But before I went back inside, I took a moment to run my fingers along the bike seat, up the handlebars, the feeling of Cam’s hand on mine still tightening my gut.

The memory of his warm tongue swiping up my blood…

Before I even knew what was happening, I was pulling my dick out of my pants and jerking off. I came in two minutes with my best friend’s name ushered on by bated breaths.

Later that night, after dinner, I was sitting on the front steps of our house, ignoring the shrill of my mother as she screamed things at my father. I was sort of just staring at the street, when I heard distant footsteps, like someone was running.

Sure enough, there was Cam and Cassie’s dad, Tom, jogging. Without even realizing it, I had stood up and was heading down the walkway, through the grass, toward the road. I wandered slowly after him, watching carefully as he jogged farther away. He was wearing only shorts, his entire naked torso on display, glistening with sweat.

I kept walking, keeping my steps paced just right, staying far enough away that he wouldn’t see me, but also fast enough that I could keep up with him, just in the distance. Watching.

Observing. Stalking.

Thomas Kline was a man, that much was clear. He wasn’t old by any means, probably nearing forty at that time, but still obviously older than me. There was hair on his chest, and his muscles weren’t like mine and Cam’s. They were thick chords and curves, carved into him, as if he was chiseled out of a big hunk of stone. The resemblance between him and Cam was there, though his hair was darker, and he had a different chin. Still, he looked like an older version of my best friend.

My best friend who’d licked my blood earlier.

My tongue grazed my lip while I watched Tom disappear up over the hill, my mind running even faster than him with thoughts. The strangeness Cassie and Cam displayed when I mentioned him earlier… Cam’s bruises. It made me think, prompted me to remember things. Their odd behaviors.

One memory popped up… Of a time I had been over their house for dinner. Tom placed his hand gently on Cassie’s shoulder. And she flinched.

I’d never given it an ounce of thought before right then.

My teeth sank into my lower lip while Tom jogged through my mind.

And I wondered how his blood tasted.

When Velle comes to take me out of solitary, my emotions are conflicted.

On the one hand, I’m fucking starving to death. Literally. I haven’t eaten in days and I can feel my life-force fading. I’m seriously craving a shower, a toothbrush, and some fucking food.

I’d love some General Tso’s chicken, but really anything will do.

But on the other hand, I don’t want to leave Dash behind. We’ve become fast friends in the few days we’ve lived on opposite sides of this wall. Our talks got me through the starvation, and honestly, I might have lost my mind if it weren’t for him. That and I really like the way listening to his voice makes me feel in the stomach. Sometimes I can even hear him when he’s not speaking.

I think his voice reminds me of someone, but I’m not sure. Maybe Isaac…

I cringe at the thought while Velle drags me, cuffed and shackled, toward the basement showers. I’ve been in here before, but of course it’s worse with Velle, since he’s the head asshole in charge and he’s on a goddamn power trip. That and maybe he’s still pissed off about me killing Wilkerson…

Doesn’t he understand I didn’t have a choice??

The shower experience is one of the more unpleasant ones I’ve been a party to. Velle takes it upon himself to spray me down with a hose, and while I’m grateful for the cleaning of sorts, it’s fucking freezing and he’s taking way too much joy in watching me suffer.

But something tells me my true suffering is still on the horizon…

Once I’m dry and in fresh clothes, Velle brings me down a bunch of long corridors, and when we begin passing doors that contain padded cells, I know we’ve entered the infamous East Wing.

Now, I’m not privy to all of the gossip that infests the halls of Alabaster Penitentiary. I don’t get to be around inmates often, and when I am, I’m never close enough to actually speak to them. Still, the guards talk around here.

Maybe they think we don’t understand what they’re saying? Or maybe they think it doesn’t matter what they say in front of us because it could never lead to anything… Who knows. But either way, being that there’s no other form of entertainment between these walls, listening to the guards is really like television for us damned souls. And believe it or not, they’re very entertaining.

I swear to God, the drama in this place is sometimes like watching an episode of Degrassi from Hell. There’s a lot to follow about the personal lives of the guards, who seem to be trapped on this island just as much as we are, except that they apparently get to live in a giant, fancy mansion across the isle. Just for that fact alone, I can’t feel too bad for them, even if I could feel bad, which I can’t.

I mean, they live in a mansion. And I haven’t eaten anything more than my own fingernails in almost five business days. I know, it’s gross. Let’s move past it, please.

But aside from the he screwed her and he screwed him and he screwed her while screwing him nonsense I hear from the guards of the Pen, the more interesting things I’ve picked up on are about the spot I find myself in right now… The East Wing.

Just from the look alone, this place is causing me to gulp a little harder than usual. A long winding row of padded cells, large metal doors in front of them with only a small plexiglass window at the top, sort of like in solitary. As we pass, I try sneaking a peek inside to see if anyone’s in there, but Velle’s dragging me too fast. Once we reach the end of the long corridor, the rooms begin to look different. There are plexiglass windows on either side of the door this time, and when I peer inside, I see a sort of doctor’s exam chair, only with arm, leg, and neck shackles on it.

And I’m sure they’re used for completely reasonable medical practices…

But before I can begin to internally obsess about what they could do to me in these strange exam rooms, I catch a glimpse of someone inside one. A dark-haired, pale-skinned person I haven’t seen in months…

Is it him??

I skid, trying to get a better look, but Velle kicks my leg until I stumble.

“Move, asshole,” he growls at me, though I’m still busy gaping inside the room at the Irishman.

He’s sitting on the floor of the room with his head in his hands, but I know it’s him. I can tell from his tattoos, and his hair, and the air of loathsome depravity surrounding him like an aura.

Without even thinking, I mutter, “He’s in here?”

Velle huffs and shoves me inside the door of the adjacent room. “Yea, so what? You got a crush on him or something?”

He chuckles to himself, but now I’m just staring at him blankly. If he only knew…

The fact that this Irish guy is now here, in the East Wing, in the cell right next to me, feels like some sort of kismet. Something that was made to happen…

There are no coincidences, after all. And I’ve been thinking about him since that first time I saw him, in the cafeteria months ago. I haven’t forgotten his words…

I’m nothing like you.

Goosebumps sheet my flesh, and I shift on my feet while Velle removes my cuffs and shackles. “Look, #89, I don’t care about your comforts, in case you haven’t noticed. You’re in here now. I’d try to get some rest while you can. Because as soon as they show up… well, let’s just say you’re in it for the long haul.”

I hear Velle’s words, but still, I can’t stop staring at the wall that separates me and the unusual Irish guy. It’s interesting that I keep sharing walls with people who captivate me so easily and so… thoroughly.

I should be nervous about what Velle’s saying… I don’t know who they are, but I’m sure I won’t like them.

Still, the only thing I can seem to focus on is the concrete slab now separating me from the Irishman, who’s nothing like me. The man with anarchy in his limbs and wretched pain in his eyes.

I’m going to find out his name.

Velle releases an irritated breath and leaves me fidgeting in place, closing the door and locking it behind him. His brutish, clunky footsteps echo off the walls as he leaves, but all the while, I’m just gawking.

Slowly, I wander closer and take a seat on the floor, sitting cross-legged, facing the wall. I place my hand up to it, remembering how I did so many times over the past few days with Dash.

Will this guy be my new Dash?

I’m not sure that’s possible. Of course, I don’t know the Irishman at all, but based on that one interaction when I first arrived in Alabaster Pen, I think I can tell he’s very different from my new Russian bestie.

Pressing my ear up to the wall, I listen closely, trying to pick up on any sounds he could be making. Unfortunately, I can’t hear anything over the vicious sound of my stomach eating itself. Closing my eyes, I rest my head on the wall. That’s what I should have asked Velle… When will the starvation thing get old?

My lips part as I prepare to say hello to my new neighbor, and finally get his name. But before I can, I hear a door opening and closing up the hall. The footsteps aren’t aggressive like those of the guards, but rather sort of… prancing.

Suddenly, there’s a man outside my cell holding a bunch of items in his arms. He unlocks the door and steps inside, grinning at me with this sort of imbecilic smile that could only be described as psychotic.

I gulp at the man in the all-white lab uniform, assessing his features. He’s short, with a tan complexion, patchy facial hair, and one of those receding hairlines that somehow turns into a ponytail in the back. He’s very odd to look at, especially with that bizarre grin on his face. It’s really giving me the creeps… And I’m a fucking murderer, so that’s saying a lot.

He clears his throat, then nods behind me. “Go to the far wall and put your forehead on it, then clasp your hands behind your back. Please.”

It takes me a moment to move because even his voice is weird. It’s like, too high-pitched or something. This guy is very strange.

Doing as he says, I stand still and listen to him make noises behind me. Then I feel him approaching, all of my muscles tightening in wait. He gets up next to me, far too close if I’m being honest, and my stomach clenches, my heart rate picking up quick.

“I’m Claude,” he says right next to my fucking ear, and I try to move away. “I work for Dr. Johansson. I’m an orderly.”

His tone is rife with this sort of jovial nonchalance, and I can’t tell if it makes him seem like a nice guy or even more of a weirdo. My face pivots in his direction and we lock eyes. His are dark brown, almost black, and devoid of any real emotion. Something I recognize well.

“Hi, Claude,” I whisper. “I’m Felix. And I don’t know who Dr. Johansson is.”

Claude’s strange grin widens. “You’ll meet him very soon. He’s in charge down here.” He steps back a bit, then pauses. “Oh, and it’s very nice to make your acquaintance, Felix. I’m a… big fan.”

My brow furrows at him. I’m sort of shocked… No one’s ever said that to me before.

“Alright.” Claude sighs and claps his hands together. “Let’s get you strapped up here.”

I’m distracted for a moment by the saliva rapidly filling my mouth because I smell food. My eyes dart around fast, and I notice a paper box that I think contains something delicious. Jesus Christ, the reaction my body has to the smell of whatever is in there is one of the most intense sensations I’ve ever experienced.

“C-can I… eat that?” I ask, my fingers twitching as my stomach roars with hunger pangs.

“Not just yet,” Claude says. “First, I need you to sit down on the chair please, Mr. Darcey.” He gestures to the chair in the middle of the room with the shackles on it.

My nerves return with a bang. Being cuffed is one thing… It happens several times a day, every day in this place. But to be shackled to a chair seems like an entirely different premise. People only strap you down for one reason, and it’s not really something I want to explore.

My head shakes slowly. No. No chair.

“Mr. Darcey… please,” Claude asks nicely. “I’m going to need you in that chair.” When my eyes flit up to his, pleading with him for some kind of sympathy, his head cocks. “It’s the only way you’ll get to eat what’s in that box.”

He looks to the paper box that I’m almost positive contains fast food. French fries, at least. I can smell them.

My mouth is overflowing, stomach churning and burning from the most primal need to eat… It’s too overpowering. I’m so hungry, I think I would do just about anything for a bite of something right now.

So I hop onto the leather chair and settle in. Whatever. They’re already starving me to death. Whatever they’re going to do to me in this room, they’ll do with or without my consent.

I push that thought away while a pleased Claude scampers over to me and straps me in. He does my arms first, slipping my hands through the leather cuffs and tightening them around my wrists. Then he does the same to my feet, shackling my ankles. And lastly, he fastens this thick cuff around my throat, holding my neck down so I really can’t move.

I’ve never felt this vulnerable before… And I’ve felt my fair share of vulnerability in my life.

My muscles are straining with mild fear as my heart jumps in my chest. I glance around, looking for Claude, but he must be behind me because I can’t see him. A few moments of him shuffling things around out of sight pass before he slinks toward the door.

“Wait, where are you going??” I gasp. “I thought I was going to get to eat!”

“Patience, Mr. Darcey.” Claude grins. “They’ll want to meet you first.”

Claude leaves as I thrash within the tight hold of my current state. I really don’t like the feeling of being held down. Control is something I enjoy having, and being strapped up like this takes it all away. Plus, all I can smell is that damn food and I’m fucking salivating. I have to swallow it down every two seconds to keep it from pouring out.

“They want to meet me…” I scoff to myself and roll my eyes. “I don’t give a fuck about them… I’m hungry.”

I don’t even know who he’s talking about. I assume one of them is probably this Dr. Johansson he mentioned. But who are the rest of them? More doctors?

This whole thing is preposterous. I knew from the moment I arrived here that the Warden—Manuel Blanco—was going to treat me like some sort of sideshow act. It makes sense, I guess. This is where they bring you when the world thinks you’re dead. The last resort for criminals so heinous, they don’t even want to trust the U.S. judicial system with us. They’d rather take matters into their own hands.

That’s what I was told after I was arrested. I spent a full week in a secret holding facility beneath a maximum-security prison upstate while they fought over what to do with me. Until one day, Governor Russo himself paid me a visit.

“The world thinks you’re dead, Felix.” He’d grinned with the words. “Thank God you’re not. We’ll get much more out of you this way.”

After that, I was transported to Alabaster Isle, where no one was shy about the fact that I was a high-profile inmate, and that it wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

The memories dance on the edge of my flickering consciousness for what feels like hours before I hear another sound. It’s much quieter in here than in solitary. Solitary is quiet, sure, but there’s always a soundtrack of dripping water and far-away screams. Noise seems to be muffled outside of this bizarre little room. Maybe it’s soundproof?

Not fully, though, because I do hear doors opening and closing from somewhere in the distance. Then I hear footsteps, a group of them. It sets me back on alert.

Only a moment later, three men are standing outside my door. They peer inside at me through the plexiglass windows, murmuring amongst themselves before coming in. Their appearances are distinctly different, though they’re all wearing white lab coats.

One of them is very tall and slim with reddish hair. The other is shorter and brown-skinned, with black hair in a crew cut and a trimmed beard. And the last one, who immediately looks to be in charge just from the air about him, is visibly older, with silver hair and glasses. And a curve to his lips, as if he’s very pleased to see me.

My eyelashes flutter and I strain my neck to look at them while they file inside the room. They’re all still whispering to each other, the redhead and the short guy holding clipboards. Finally, they stop chit-chatting and surround my chair.

“Hello, Felix,” the older-looking one says pleasantly. “My name is Dr. Johansson.” He gestures to the others and introduces them. “This is Dr. Templeton and Abel Figueroa. We are here to examine you.”

“Examine me…” I mumble, bemused. “Like a physical?”

Dr. Johansson huffs a chuckle, shaking his head. I already don’t like him. “Not necessarily, though we will be taking your vitals throughout, performing occasional blood tests, monitoring your brain activity, blood pressure, things like that. Actually, we like to monitor your entire body’s reactions during the process.”

“Throughout what?” I ask softly, my palms immediately sweating. “During what process?”

Dr. Johansson leans in a bit. “Felix, we are tasked by the Warden to examine inmates who are special cases of psychopathy. And you are one of his more intriguing finds. We have much to learn from you.”

It’s interesting that I’m momentarily flattered before the unease seeps in. This was inevitable, sure, but I’m still unable to ignore the way my body feels weighted and heavy with despair. I heard the rumors about the kinds of things they do down here in the East Wing… The experiments on inmates, like the practices of some old-school insane asylum. But for some reason, part of me held out that Manuel Blanco was better than that. That he loved having me here, like a prized pony, and he might not feel inclined to ruin me, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest style.

I guess that was a naïve notion.

So I simply lift my chin, accepting my fate. Let’s get this over with.

Not that they were awaiting my consent, but after that, the three of them begin meandering around the room. I can’t see much, since my neck is shackled, but I hear keys jingling, drawers opening and closing. And then Dr. Figueroa steps up to me with some devices in his hands.

Electrodes. Yippee.

I swallow hard as he attaches them to my temples, and Dr. Templeton wheels over some sort of monitor, then attaches something to my arm. I’m hooked up to all kinds of things, and they’re still just taking notes on their little clipboards.

“This is Dr. Jarvis Johansson, along with Dr. Kenneth Templeton and Abel Figueroa…” Dr. Johansson begins speaking as if he’s recording this, stating the date and time, while I’m stuck on the fact that apparently Figueroa isn’t a real doctor… You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. “Patient’s name is Felix Harmon Darcey. Twenty-three years old, approximately six feet, one-hundred and eighty pounds.” He stops and mutters something before resuming. “One-seventy.”

I’ve lost ten pounds since I’ve been here… Awesome.

“Patient has not consumed food in five days. We will now monitor meal consumption.”

My forehead lines as I gawk up at them. “Monitor meal consumption? What the hell is that gonna do?”

“Felix, please remain quiet during this phase,” Dr. Johansson scolds me. I roll my eyes.

Figueroa brings over the paper box of food and I can hear the beeping of the cardiac machine speed up. It would be embarrassing if I wasn’t literally about to croak. Honestly, I’m so hungry the thought of eating is almost turning me on.

Let’s not tell these creepy doctors that part, though.

He opens the box and sure enough, there’s a cheeseburger and French fries inside. I think I just came in my pants.

Figueroa lifts the burger and brings it to my mouth, which is already open and waiting. I take a huge bite and dear God… It’s euphoric.

I chew for a long time, just savoring the flavors, barely even able to distinguish them. It’s just incredible. I don’t even notice until my third bite that I’m humming while chewing and my fingers are wiggling. I think my toes are, too.

They give me some fries, all the while taking notes, watching me closely while I eat with fucking electrodes on my head. I have no idea what they’re seeing, but I couldn’t give the tiniest fuck. It feels like I’ve died and gone to heaven.

“You guys wouldn’t happen to have a can of Dr. Pepper lying around, would you?” I ask gleefully when Figueroa pulls the burger away to wipe my mouth with a napkin.

Johansson says nothing. He simply nods at Templeton, who scurries out of the room, returning two minutes later with a red can.

“Oh my fucking God, this is perfect,” I practically squeal. “Hey. Fry me, Figs.”

Figueroa gives me an unenthused look, but does as I ask, picking up a few fries and feeding them to me slowly while Templeton cracks open the Dr. Pepper. I’m already feeling so full, which is crazy. Usually, I can put away cheeseburgers like no one’s business. Obviously, it’s because I haven’t eaten in days.

“Are you replete?” Johansson asks while they give me a drink from my soda can. The bubbles fizz in my mouth and down my throat, a welcome burn that sets off serotonin in my brain like it’s no one’s business.

“Replete?” I huff. It’s a strange word, but then everything about these guys seems pretty odd, so I nod. “Yea. Definitely. I mean, for now.” The thought that I could have to go more days without food again, after the bliss I just experienced, makes me sad inside.

“Very good, Felix,” Johansson says, as if I did something much more exciting than just mowing down a cheeseburger.

“Thanks?” I mumble, but they’re not listening. They’re too busy rushing around the room, cleaning up the food, pressing buttons on the machines.

Figueroa gives me some more soda, then gives me an entire bottle of water to drink, dumping it slowly down my throat. It’d be a lot easier if I could do it myself, but obviously convenience isn’t the name of their game.

“Six full hours for digestion,” Johansson mutters to one of them. “Call it seven.”

“Yes, sir,” the others both say.

And then they go to the door. And they freaking leave.

I sigh out of frustration. I guess I’ll just stay strapped to this thing, then…

It’s back to silence in the room, but no longer accompanied by the sounds of my stomach gurgling. Now it’s just my occasional burps from the Doctor Peps.

“I’ll say a prayer for yeh…” A vaguely familiar voice with an Irish accent comes through the wall on my left. “That was the easy part.”

My fist clenches. I wish I could get the fuck up, move closer to the wall. I’ve been dying to speak to him, and I don’t want to do it while strapped to this stupid chair.

“You think a prayer will stop them?” I scoff.

“It won’t stop them, no,” he replies. “It might kill yeh quicker, though.”

I melt into the back of the chair, staring at the ceiling. This is the conversation I’ve been wanting to have for months. Since the day he looked into my eyes and told me he was nothing like me.

Yet he’s here, too. Right on the other side of the wall, experiencing the same things that I am. Whether he believes he’s like me or not is irrelevant.

We’re the same.

“I’m Felix,” my voice quavers a bit and I mentally scold myself for being so uncool. “What’s your name?”

“I know who yeh are,” he rumbles. “The name’s Kieran O’Malley.”

Kieran O’Malley, my mind sighs.

I look forward to getting to know you.

One of my favorite songs plays at high volume over the speakers of my BMW while I cruise the highway, heading out of the city toward Marietta.

The suburbs. Where my parents live; the house I grew up in.

I was actually born in Chicago, but we moved when I was too young to remember it. Georgia has been my home forever, minus the four years I spent in Baltimore for med school. I wasn’t alone, though. My uncle Harold lives there with his wife and kids.

The thought of wives and kids distracts me from that of the message sitting in my voicemail box. It’s been on my mind for three days, since that mysterious call from Manuel Blanco with the job offer that wasn’t really a job offer, since he didn’t tell me anything about it. I woke up the next morning to a voicemail from him with a phone number to call once I’d given it some thought.

Given what some thought, exactly??

I have a life I’ve built here. I can’t just leave it all behind to go to New York on some strange excursion, even if it does revolve around something I’ve wanted to do for as long as I can remember.

But the more I consider it, is there really anything holding me back? I don’t have the wife or kids, as will be pointed out to me over and over tonight, I’m sure, when I show up to my parents’ house without Gabrielle.

They’re strong believers in the image of family, regardless of whether it’s just an airbrushed fabrication for the sole purpose of fitting into the community. I’ve never cared about it myself. I don’t see the purpose in faking things just to please other people, which is the main point of contention between me and the rest of my family.

I don’t do things because they look good. And they don’t understand that.

My father, Levi, is a highly respected surgeon, and my mother, Vera, a pediatric oncologist. My father’s father was one of the best surgeons in the country before he retired, and even my uncle Harold is a plastic surgeon who never misses an opportunity to let people know how much money he makes.

I’m the only one who didn’t go into medicine. Well, me and him…

My teeth clench and I grip the steering wheel harder while exiting the freeway.

My family is ridiculous. They act as if treating the human mind rather than body makes me lesser than them. I’ll just say it… People don’t respect psychiatrists as much as they should. We get a bad reputation as charlatans, which is lunacy, because I’ve met more quacks who work in medicine than those in the behavioral or clinical fields.

But I’m the odd man out.

Parking in the driveway of the home I lived in for most of my life, I take a moment to breathe before stepping out of the car with the bottle of wine I brought.

Here, Mom. Let this ninety-dollar bottle of Cab serve as a replacement for the woman you wanted me to marry.

At the front door, I ring the bell and wait. Some people might just walk in… since it was my home once, too. But I don’t. It doesn’t feel like I belong here.

My mother opens the door with her slight twist to the lips that serves as a smile. “Lemuel. So good to see you.” Her eyes dart to my right. Then to my left. And she frowns.

“Mother,” I sigh, walking inside past her.

Her hand comes to rest on my shoulder. It’s the most affectionate touch we subscribe to in the Love family. I know, it’s ironic. “Where is Gabrielle?”

“We ended it,” I tell her while strolling toward the study, where the bar is located.

I can feel her glare on the side of my face, but I refuse to acknowledge it. We reach the bar and I leave the bottle of wine, glancing across the room at the sound of voices.

“Lemuel!” My grandfather, Marvin, stands slowly to greet me.

“Gramp, don’t get up.” I rush to him. He’s getting older, after all.

“Oh, shut up,” he grumbles, and I hold back a grin.

We exchange a handshake with a pat on the back. I told you, that’s all you get here. Then I turn to my father and shake his hand.

“Dad.”

“Good to see you, Lemuel.” He looks me up and down, his eyes landing on my hair as a slight scowl pulls around his mouth.

He’s never been a fan of my dreads. Bonus points in the disappointment category.

“Levi, did you hear this?” My mother comes up to us with wine glasses. “He says he and Gabrielle broke up.”

My jaw clenches as I take the wineglass, making quick work of opening my bottle and pouring some. I take a fast gulp before we even toast to anything.

“Oh. Well, that’s a shame,” my grandfather says as my mother pours them wine.

“More than that,” my father scolds. “You’re not getting any younger, Lemuel. When are you going to make one of these relationships stick?”

I take a longer sip, then shrug. “Who knows. Maybe never.”

I’m not sure what about visiting my parents turns me into a petulant teenager again, but if I were putting myself on the chair, I’m sure I could come up with a few theories.

My mother scoffs. “That’s preposterous, Lemuel. Everyone needs to settle down eventually. Don’t you want a family?”

I finish my glass.

Fortunately, going mute stops them from harassing me about Gabrielle, at which point the conversation turns a bit more… stale. We talk about their work, all the benefits and fundraisers they’ve been attending and hosting. My grandfather talks about how well Harold is doing in Baltimore, getting ready to retire and send his children off to med school.

And I steer clear of talking about my work, since it will just earn me those infamous looks of bored disappointment. Unless I’m mentioning pharmaceuticals, which they can always get on board with.

It’s all so… Predictable.

The only plus side is that my mother cooked, which doesn’t happen often. She’s a great cook, but she’s very busy, so she saves her skills for special occasions, which I guess tonight is. We all sit around the table, and she serves us roasted chicken, baked macaroni casserole, collard greens and pigeon peas… It reminds me a lot of my grandmother. These were her recipes.

One silver lining to coming home.

“So what’s the retirement status?” I ask in between bites, knowing this is a hot topic for my parents, and it should keep them off of me.

“You know, I could retire now,” my father says with pride.

“So could I,” my mother mumbles under her breath.

He ignores her. “But I don’t want to leave the hospital. The work is so rewarding.”

Internally, I’m rolling my eyes. Just like I used to when I was an undergrad and my father would drone on about how rewarding it was to be an OR surgeon.

My work is rewarding. For me.

Isn’t that the point?

“When do you think you’ll pull the trigger?” I prod some more, forking at macaroni. “I mean, I know people in their sixties who would kill to retire, pension or not.”

“Yes, well, those people don’t love what they do, Lemuel,” my mother butts in, and my eyes dart to her while I struggle not to glare. “This is why we’ve put so much stock in finding the best possible career. This country is made up of so many people who are miserable. It’s depressing.” She pauses for a moment to sip her wine. “I’m sure you can relate. You treat many of them.”

Oh, right. Because I forgot, Mother… All I’m good for is prescribing Xanax to bored housewives.

I reach for my glass and drain it once more.

“Lem, what happened with Gabrielle?” my grandfather asks. “She was a good girl.”

“We weren’t compatible,” I mumble.

“Be straight with us,” my father demands.

Sucking in a long pull of air, I sit back in my seat. “She ended it. She said we wanted different things, and I have to agree.”

Everyone is quiet for many ticking seconds, heavy with tension.

“I guess families aren’t for everyone…” My grandfather sighs.

He’s always been the more understanding of the lot of them, definitely more so after his wife passed. Maybe growing old makes you soft. But my father is in his sixties and he’s got no chill.

“That’s ridiculous,” dear old Dad adds, shocking no one with his opposition to that statement. “What are you going to do? Just whore around with various women? You’re our only son, Lemuel. You have a responsibility to give us grandchildren.”

“God, this is so stupid,” I breathe, reaching forward to grab the wine bottle and pouring myself more. I take a large gulp, then aim my glare at the both of them. “You should’ve had more kids, then.”

My mother is gripping her napkin visibly hard. “Yes. I suppose we should have.”

A voice in my mind begins shouting. It’s one I push down all the time, one I give very little satisfaction to. But when I’m around them, it seems to tunnel its way up to the surface of my brain.

Say it to her, Lem. Say the words…

I swallow thickly as a memory flickers…

“You don’t know what you saw, Lemuel. It wasn’t anything bad, alright? Just don’t tell your father, okay, sweetie?”

I bite down on the inside of my cheek.

“I just don’t see how you’ll find a better partner than Gabrielle.” My father keeps going, and my fingers dig into my thigh. “Beautiful, smart, successful. Her firm does incredible pro bono work, as I’m sure you know. I was reading an article about it the other day. They called her one of the top prosecutors on the East Coast.”

“Yes, father, I’m well aware of all of that,” I grumble, growing so damn sick and tired of this conversation. “If it were up to me, we would have stayed together. But she wasn’t having it, and honestly, I don’t blame her.” My eyes meet my mother’s. “Who wants to marry someone you’re not in love with, right?”

She’s giving me a pretty scathing glare right now, but I’m not fazed. She’s the last person I would ever take relationship advice from. And my father is a close second.

We finish the rest of the meal in awkward silence. Afterward, I help my mother clear the table, because even though I’m sure I hate her, I still have my manners. We bring out coffee and cake and sit around the table talking about bullshit.

Well, I’m not talking. They are.

I’m zoning out thinking about the message from Manuel Blanco.

I don’t relate to these people. I never have, not since I learned the truth about my parents’ marriage at a young age. And especially not after what happened with Stephen…

“So, Lem, any new interesting cases over there at your practice?” my grandfather asks. My eyes jump to his and my brows lift.

I can’t be sure if he’s goading me so that he can tell me again how I’m like a glorified guidance counselor. He usually isn’t that bad, but he likes to set them up and let my father knock them down.

Or maybe he is just trying to be nice, whether he agrees with my career or not. Either way, I’m not taking the bait.

“Gramp, you know I can’t talk about my patients.” I scoop my fork into the thick icing on my cake. “Confidentiality.”

“I will never understand how you listen to people talk about their problems all day,” my father goes in. Once again, no one is surprised. “Especially those lunatics you treat from the asylum…”

“Jesus, Dad, no one says asylum anymore.” I huff, shaking my head. “It’s not nineteen-fifty.”

“I’m just saying.” He sips his coffee. “I don’t get it… This fascination with crazy.”

My head cocks at him. “Oh, trust me, I know you have no interest in understanding what makes people tick. Or figuring out why they do the things they do…”

My father’s face drops. So does my grandfather’s. In the flip of a switch, they’re all wearing this expression of suppressed guilt, like their masks have slipped down just a bit and the ugliness they try so desperately to hide from the outside world is showing true.

I lean in on the table. “Out of sight, out of mind. Right, Dad?”

“Lemuel,” my mother gasps quietly, as if someone might overhear us. “That’s enough.”

Shaking my head, I scoot my chair back forcefully. “Thank you for the lovely meal. But I think I’ll be going.”

None of them says a word. In fact, they’re actively trying to look everywhere in the world other than at me while I stomp out of the room toward the door. I’m fuming inside, but I refuse to give them the satisfaction of losing it. I haven’t done that since I was a teenager, and it never helped my cause one bit. At this point, doing everything in my power to not be like them is the only weapon in my arsenal.

Just as I’m reaching the front door, I spot a pile of mail on a side table. One of the envelope’s return addresses stands out and I pause to glance at it.

S. Love… Chicago, Illinois.

My teeth damn near grind to dust, pulse pounding in my skull while my hands fist at my sides. Closing my eyes, I take a breath and count to ten, pushing it all away. Then I pull open the door and leave the bullshit behind.

I get into the car and turn on my playlist at full volume, blasting music all the way back into the city.

And when I get there, I place a call to Manuel Blanco.

I’m awoken by the sounds of people entering my cell, and it takes me a moment to recall where I am. I fight against the restraints for a few seconds before the memory of my situation sets in and I sigh out of defeat.

Dr. Johansson, Dr. Templeton, and the non-doctor Figueroa waltz back into my cell like they never left, immediately surrounding me once more. They flip the machines back on, and the beeping starts up again.

Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I gaze up at them.

“Good evening, Felix.” Johansson grins down at me. “How are you feeling?”

“Better now that I’ve eaten,” I tell him honestly. “But still pretty stiff from being strapped to this thing.”

He nods, but doesn’t give any indication that he cares about my discomfort. Picking up a medical chart from the nearby counter, he glances over it before coming back to me. Then he removes my glasses.

The world is instantly a bit blurry, which stresses me out. Not having my glasses always puts me on edge. I need to them to see. In fact, I’ve needed glasses since I was six. And I can’t do contacts. Touching eyes gives me the willies.

The increase in beep speed obviously tells them I’m nervous without my glasses, which, of course, they scribble down on their damn clipboards. Johansson launches into his spiel again, stating the date, time, my name, my vitals. They start speaking in some kind of medical jargon I don’t understand, and then Figueroa removes the electrodes from my temples, replacing them with a different device.

I can’t really see it because I can’t move my head and everything is blurry, but from a glance, it looks sort of like two cloth-wrapped poles at my temples which run up into a teepee-shaped hat, attached to another machine.

Figueroa steps away, then comes back with something in his hand. “Open up.”

My blinking becomes rapid, my heart rate increasing at a frantic pace while I shake my head. “No… what is that?”

“I need to put this in your mouth so that you don’t break your teeth or swallow your own tongue,” he says calmly.

My stomach begins to flop around, unease filling me like sand. I shake my head again.

“Felix, you must cooperate,” Johansson says, his tone ominous. I’m just now noticing a slight accent… Maybe Norwegian or German. “If you don’t, things will become much more uncomfortable.”

Part of me nags to keep fighting, to resist what they’re going to do to me, knowing it will probably be very painful. But another part chooses to give in.

Because after all… This is what I deserve.

My lips part slowly and Figueroa stuffs a rubber thing into my mouth. It has a short tube attached to it, I’m guessing so that I can breathe.

They bustle around for only another minute before Johansson says, “Beginning with seventy volts.”

As soon as I hear the word volts, my eyes close. This is it.

I knew it was coming, but Jesus… Electroshock therapy?? Fuck my life.

The machine powers on. My hands squeeze into fists. And with no further warning for me…

Zap.

I see white light. I can’t tell if it’s in front of my eyes or behind my eyelids. A burning, searing pain sizzles the skin of my temples, every muscle in my body tense and bunched. But that’s not the part I’m focusing on.

The pain seems visible. It’s something I can see, or that I could even reach out and touch, like a being before me. In an instant, my thoughts are transformed into lines of running code, like I’m a machine.

Then it goes blank, as if I’ve been turned off.

When the throbbing pain finally dulls a bit, I groan around the obstruction in my mouth. And I think, alright. That wasn’t so bad. I’m still alive.

Until… Zap!

Another one.

I’m wheezing and groaning, but it doesn’t feel like it’s coming from me. I don’t remember where I am or what’s going on. It just hurts so bad. My brain is being fried. It’s hot. I think I can feel the heat inside my skull.

I’m begging and pleading with them to stop, but no words are coming out. They can’t hear me, because I’m not speaking. And after a few moments, I realize that I’m crying. Tears are tumbling down my cheeks, and they feel like acid on my skin.

“Turning up to ninety,” someone says, their voice echoing.

No, no no no no… Please, no.

Zap!

Jesus fucking Christ.

This is by far the most excruciating pain I’ve ever experienced in my whole life. I feel each shock dulling my baser instincts and senses, my fight-or-flight. I can feel my brain shutting down.

Johansson gets it up to one hundred and twenty volts, and after two more shocks, I’m gurgling nonsense with my entire body lying limp in the chair. Even if I weren’t strapped down, it would make no difference. I don’t even remember how to move at this point.

After that, they clean me up, put my glasses back on and release me from the chair. Templeton straps me up in a straitjacket while I lie limp like a rag doll.

They all leave, and I think I fall asleep, but I can’t even be sure. I hear words whispering in an Irish accent while I come in and out of consciousness over the next two days.

Two full days I can barely remember.

I know that they’ve given me food and water, but I can’t recall eating or drinking it.

Just as I’m finally feeling a bit like myself again, they return for more electroshock therapy.

It’s even worse the second time. I’ve become a zombie for another two days after that. When I finally come to, I’m groggy and confused. And nauseous. So much so that I immediately turn and throw up on the floor next to where I’m lying.

My lungs are tight, and my whole body is heavy like hundreds of pounds of wet cement.

Taking in a deep breath, I remove my glasses and rub my eyes. Everything is blurry, even when I put them back on. It takes a while for my vision to come back into focus, but when it does, I find myself on the floor of a different kind of cell.

A padded one.

Struggling to my feet, I wander to the door and look out the window. I don’t see anyone. Just flickers of fluorescents that light up the corridor. I cough a few times, wrestling against the tightness of my straitjacket before I crumble to my knees.

I end up sitting and just staring at nothing for hours. I’m so confused, but when I hear the sounds of footsteps, my nerves come bounding back with force. I can’t even lie… I’m scared. What could be next? More electricity?? How much more do they need to do to me? Are they even finding out anything, or is this just some sick game?

Keys unlock my cell, and Dr. Johansson walks in. “Good morning, Mr. Darcey. How are we feeling?”

“Like shit,” I croak. He nods along, not even paying attention to me.

“I see you were sick,” he references my vomit. “I’ll send someone in to clean that.”

“Great,” I mutter sarcastically as he steps over and takes me by the arm, lifting me to my feet.

At that moment, a guard shows up just outside the door of the cell. I vaguely recognize him. I think he usually works in general population.

“Let’s go, #89,” the guard grumbles. “Chop chop.”

I’d like to ask where we’re going, but I don’t. Instead, I simply allow the guard to remove my straitjacket and cuff my hands in front, then shackle my ankles and walk me out of the cell, up the long corridor, glancing back once at Johansson, who I guess isn’t coming with us.

We walk for a while, out of the winding identical hallways of the East Wing and through the big doors that lead to solitary. We follow the maze that is Alabaster Penitentiary until we reach a staircase. My surprise is written on my face while we climb the steps slowly, minding my shackles. I didn’t even know there were stairs in this prison. Usually everything is just these weird descending ramp-like hallways that bring you lower. It’s very strange. Whoever designed this place either had a sense of humor, or was a raving madman.

I’m going with the latter.

At the top of the steps, I see a window and I nearly fall down.

“Oh my God…” I gasp, my eyes lighting up at the sight of sun and trees, sand and ocean. It’s breathtaking.

“Focus, #89. No dilly-dallying.” The guard shoves me, and we keep walking until we reach a door.

He knocks on it and someone inside says, “Come in.”

So in we come. And suddenly I’m face to face with Manuel Blanco.

The Ivory.

Well, not exactly face to face, since he’s sitting at his desk and I’m standing in the middle of a giant office with at least ten feet between us. It’s very interesting to see him, though. I haven’t so much as peeped his face since the day I was brought here several months ago. But at the same time, he has the biggest window behind where he’s sitting, and the sight of the sunlight glittering over blue waters is much more appealing to me right now than AP’s Warden.

“Leave us, Officer,” he says to the guard, who simply slinks out of the room and closes the door behind him. “Good day, Felix. Nice to see you again.” I nod, and that’s it. Because what else am I going to say? He gestures to the chairs before his desk. “Please. Have a seat.”

I’m confused as hell. I don’t know why I’m here, or why he wants me to have a seat in his office like he’s my boss and we’re about to do a performance review.

He folds his hands on the desk, cocking his head to the side as he stares at me. And I stare back.

I got a good look at him the first time we met. When I arrived at Alabaster Isle, I was greeted by Manuel Blanco personally, at which point he introduced himself as The Ivory. A name that makes sense based on his white hair, though I’m sure that’s not its only origin.

I remember thinking that he was good-looking at the time, an impression that hasn’t wavered, regardless of how wicked he clearly is. Strange white hair aside, he has a very chiseled look to him. Sharp angles, almost severe in their lines. Intense black eyes, like a ghoul who might suck out your soul if you look into them for too long. But he’d probably make it feel really good when he did it…

And the clothes… I mean, come on. The guy dresses like he’s going to step into a helicopter as soon as he’s done speaking with you and be whisked away for a meeting with Jeff Bezos or Kris Jenner or some other wealthy evil genius.

All that to say, yes, The Ivory is very attractive, but there’s something about his simmering, commanding personality that draws me in more than just his looks and his clothes. He has this quiet dominance about him… Something I’ve always found intriguing.

Cold. Aloof. Detached.

Why is that so hot?

The Warden leans in on the desk, cutting off my thoughts with his words. “I’ve brought you up here today, Felix, to let you know that I have plans for you.” I simply gape at him. “The research being performed by my doctors is all well and good for the rest of the monsters we house here in Alabaster Penitentiary, but you… You’re a diamond in the rough.” His dark eyes shine like obsidian as his lips quirk. “A truly unique example of ordered chaos in the human mind.”

I shift in my seat, the chains around my ankles clinking as I do.

He glares at me for a few more seconds before leaning back. “A doctor is coming here just for you, Felix. A renowned psychiatrist… Another diamond in the rough, one might say. He is quite skilled, and I’m fully confident that he will work wonders on getting down to the root of what makes you tick.”

My head shakes a bit. “Why are you telling me all of this?” Blanco raises a light brow. “I just mean, it’s not like you need me to sign off on what you do to me. You said it yourself, I’m yours. I’m here, for the rest of ever. Why not just send the guy in?”

The Warden gazes at me for a few heavy seconds, during which I feel like he’s looking into my soul. It’s a strange notion, but part of me feels like we’re kindred spirits, me and him, though he’s clearly at a higher stature. But still… I can see the same kinds of depravity in him that I know I possess myself. I suppose that’s what makes him so scary… The fact that he’s free and in charge of all these things.

“I want to keep you informed, Felix,” he finally replies. “As I mentioned, you’re not like all the others. You’re special, in that you’re so very sick, yes. But you also possess a self-awareness I’m not sure many of our other inmates carry. I would like to expand on that. I want to pull at all of your threads, Felix. And I believe the good doctor can do that for me.”

Something about what he’s saying makes me itchy inside.

Yes, I’ve considered myself to be pretty self-aware. But that doesn’t mean I want to crack open my head and have it examined by miscellaneous people. Being under a microscope doesn’t sound anywhere near as fun as being interviewed and fawned over by people who are fascinated by the beast in chains.

“So, if this doctor is coming, then that means no more experiments from Johansson and his team?” I ask, trying hard to keep the hopefulness out of my voice, though it doesn’t quite work.

Blanco grins, but shakes his head slowly, making a tsk tsk sound. “Now, where would be the fun in that, my dear Carver?”

Swallowing the sandpaper that is my throat, my lips part, but before I can say anything else, the Warden barks, “Take him.”

And immediately the guard from before bursts back into the room and grabs me by the arm, hoisting me out of the chair and out of The Ivory’s office while my head spins. Okay…

I’m distracted by that conversation for the majority of our walk back downstairs. My thoughts are scattered about, like a child’s toy chest that’s been opened and rummaged through. So when we burst through the doorway to solitary row, I almost miss the fact that another guard is there, removing an inmate from one of the cells.

Zoning in, I realize that it’s the cell next to the one I had been in. And my heart jumps when I see a gorgeous boy being dragged out in cuffs and shackles. His head is shaved, unfortunately, because he’s the kind of guy you just know has beautiful hair. He has a pale complexion, and even though he looks exhausted and starving, I can’t look away from the perfect angles of his face. Mainly his puffy pink lips and bright eyes with long fanning lashes.

He looks right at me, locking eyes with mine, and even in this poor lighting I can see the mixture of green and brown in his irises… A hazel that steals my breath because of how much it reminds me of my first love… Cameron.

The beautiful boy is staring at me like he knows me, and then it dawns… Could this be Dash?

A flutter happens in my stomach while we’re walked past each other. His lips part like he wants to say something, but our guards are moving us too fast. So I simply nod at him. And he nods back… Which tells me it’s definitely Dash. Why else would he be staring at me like he knows me? And coming out of the cell where Dash was being held in solitary!

I turn over my shoulder one last time before we reach the next doorway, but Dash is already being scolded and yanked by the guard through the door toward general population. I let out a soft sigh as we continue our walk, mesmerized.

Of course Dash is stunning. I pictured him that way. Plus, his voice and his awesome personality… It figures he’d be perfect with the face and body of a sexy Russian angel.

Biting my lip as we shuffle to the East through the long corridor, my mind sticks on memories of a time in the cafeteria, when I think I may have seen Dash before. But I’m distracted from my reverie when instead of putting me back in the padded cell, the guard shoves me into the one of the exam rooms. He goes through the process of uncuffing me, then lacing me back up in a new straitjacket before removing the shackles and leaving. I listen to him as he stomps away, sighing out my defeat and plopping down on the floor.

Resting my head on the wall, my thoughts twist and turn through it all… The Ivory, his words, a new doctor… Dash.

I knock on the wall. “O’Malley?”

Silence. Maybe he’s not in there. I don’t remember seeing him when we walked by, but then I was pretty distracted.

I sift through my thoughts for about an hour before I hear the footsteps I’ve begun to associate with pain and irritation. And sure enough, in strolls Dr. Johansson and Dr. Templeton. Here to ruin my mood.

Before they even say anything, I mutter, “Can we not? Please? I’m tired…”

I’m just so damn exhausted. Too tired to struggle against whatever bullshit they want to do to me now. Too tired to even say any more words.

“I understand, Felix, but this is pertinent research,” Johansson says. “The Warden is very impressed with our findings so far.”

This time I have to glance up at him. He really doesn’t look evil or sinister at all. I honestly think that in his mind, he believes everything he’s doing to me is great. He seems eager to please, but it’s clearly not me he wants to impress. It must be The Ivory.

Or maybe it’s that new fancy doctor who’s coming…

The two of them get me up and force open my mouth. My fight kicks in just enough as I struggle against them. And fucking Johansson says, “Patient seems agitated,” like a real idiot, as Templeton injects something under my tongue.

I expect to fall asleep right away, but that’s not what happens.

The two of them leave me alone after that. For a half-hour, I just sit in the cell and stare at nothing, wondering what’s about to happen to me. The waiting is like a torture on its own… I have no clue what they’ve injected me with, but my mind is running wild with ideas.

I’m growing more paranoid by the minute… Until I begin to feel strange.

My limbs grow heavy and my vision blurs… The air turns into waves.

Oh, God… fuck this.

Now, I’m not a drug-doer. It’s just not my thing, and it never has been. Someone gave me something that I think was MDMA once at a club, and I hated it. I don’t like being unable to control myself. My emotions, my instincts, my urges. If I can’t control them, then who knows what I’ll do?

That said, it becomes clear to me very quickly when I start laughing at nothing that they’ve drugged me.

And then I freak the fuck out.

Because it’s one thing to be drugged against your will, but it’s a whole other being laced up in a straitjacket while you’re tripping balls.

I begin screaming, though I can’t recognize my voice or figure out what I’m saying. I spend hours pacing around the room, banging my head against the wall and the door, to no avail. I talk to myself for a while, then I talk to O’Malley through the wall, even though he’s not there.

Maybe I’m talking to Dash?

I’m paranoid as hell, convinced they’re watching me through hidden cameras. The trip is long, and persistent, and it seems to drone on.

Finally, finally, I’m able to fall asleep, but only for a couple of scattered hours. I wake up to Claude bringing me a sandwich and water, which I scarf down like an animal.

I know it hasn’t been all that long, I suppose, in the grand scheme of time, but I’m already so sick of being toyed with. I can only hope this new fancy doctor they’re sending in will be better than this.

Or maybe he’ll just have some different tricks up his sleeve to poke and prod the psychopath.

Felix Harmon Darcey

Age: Seventeen

Location: Brooklyn, NY

Long Island University Housing

Our family unit was running on fumes by the time I graduated high school.

Mom and Dad fought constantly, which wasn’t exactly news, except that for the last six months, their fighting would often result in Dad leaving the house. Mom would be screaming at him, as she did, and he would just walk out, not to be seen or heard from again until the next morning. A few times, he was gone for days.

Of course, Zach and I didn’t know where he went during these little retreats. Now that I’m thinking about it, he probably just went to a hotel, or maybe to the home of a mistress. But at the time, it was one of those things that felt detrimental. An action that holds the potential to forever destroy life as you know it.

Our father was leaving us, and if he had it in him to leave for a night or two, then what would stop him from leaving forever?

My going off to college came at the perfect time. Divorce was right around the corner for my parents, plus Cameron had left. The year prior, he’d vanished into thin air. One day he was there, living up the street, riding his bike past my house and smiling, finding excuses to tackle me to the ground and pretend to kick my ass, which I liked way too much. And the next, he was gone.

I still remember his face the last time I saw him… He looked sad. Broken. He wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, but all I wanted in the whole world was to make him happy again. I just wanted to see that smile…

When I found out he’d left, I went straight to his sister, Cassie, who told me he’d run away. She was gone two months later herself, having left to live with her aunt.

I couldn’t believe it. My two best friends… my only two friends… were no more. After that, going to college was more than just something I wanted to do in order to feel normal and get away from home. It became my escape plan.

Sure, the thought of being invisible in a larger setting stressed me out, but at least in college, I was away from my family. At least there I could study things I actually had an interest in, like behavioral psychology and mortician studies—I know, I know.

I could play the part of the normal, introverted freshman and hopefully chase away the restlessness that had been building and building inside me; the eagerness I held in my chest for something I couldn’t comprehend, which had become so stifling at times I could barely think straight.

I wanted to get away from all of it and have a fresh start. I had been accepted to Long Island University in Brooklyn, and I decided that was where I would go.

That fall, I moved into my new home. Kings Hall, dorm room 25B.

Mom, Dad, and Zach drove me to campus and moved me in. I remember the day, all of us puttering around my room like we were a normal family. Really, I was just anxious to get rid of them. Anxious to switch my personality from Felix Darcey, lonely boy from the Connecticut suburbs, to Felix Darcey, college student and resident of the greatest city in the world.

Before they left, my dad gave me one of only three hugs he’s ever given me.

The first one was when I was a boy, after I overheard a fight between him and my mother, wherein they’d been arguing about how strange I was. And the third and final hug would occur on the Thanksgiving before I was arrested. I’d gone to see him for the holiday, and I told him I was doing great, which I mean… I think I was.

Fucking and slaughtering to my heart’s content.

Anyway, when my father hugged me goodbye in my dorm room—hug two of three—he pulled me close and said, “I’m proud of you, son.”

A wave of bliss crashed over me. It was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. I was overjoyed that my dad was hugging me and telling me he was proud… I could never be sure, after all. He’d never given me any real inclination that he cared about what happened to me. As long as I was doing what I was supposed to, like going to school, getting decent grades, not openly killing animals for the world to see…

But as it turned out, he did care. This was the human moment I’d been craving. The affection I’d always dreamt of from my father.

And then he said, “Don’t be surprised, but when you come home for winter break, I won’t be there. Your mother and I are getting a divorce.”

He pulled away, patted me on the back, and left.

I was almost stupefied. I just couldn’t process it. Here I thought I was having a real connection with my father for the first time in pretty much ever, but all he was thinking about was leaving my mother. Who knew if he was even actually proud of me, or if he was only saying what he thought he should say to his son on the day he goes off to college. Or trying to placate me, to lessen the blow of impending divorce.

It was so achingly typical. It pissed me off that I was even upset.

My mother and Zachary hugged me goodbye, but I didn’t feel it. I couldn’t be concerned with the blathering Mom was doing, about making sure to clean up after myself and eat right. It was all just background noise.

They were getting a divorce. I’d known it was coming, but for some reason, it still hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks. I wandered in and out of consciousness for hours after that. I went for a walk around the campus, but I couldn’t tell you what I did or who I saw. I was in a fog.

Until I got back to my dorm room, and was met with vibrant blue eyes and jet black hair.

“You must be Felix.” The broad-shouldered boy smiled and stepped over, extending his hand. “I’m Isaac.”

“You’re…” I breathed, my voice dissolving as I tried to keep from openly gawking. “My roommate…”

“Guilty as charged.” His smile widened as I took his hand, shaking it slowly.

It was so firm. A nice, large hand. A bit calloused, which had me wondering what he did for fun. What made his skin feel like that.

I wanted so badly to say something cool, but I couldn’t think. I was stuck, frozen in place, suspended in the room this gorgeous boy had just sucked all the air out of.

Isaac’s forehead lined as he yanked his hand out of mine, snapping me out of it, and I scolded myself inside for being such a weirdo. I’d been holding on for way longer than a typical handshake. And I was just standing there like a mute. Like a moron.

I loathed myself in that moment for not being cooler, obsessing over it as I mumbled something about unpacking and staggered to my side of the room. And my uncoolness would only get worse from there. Because at that point, I was an almost eighteen-year-old virgin who’d never even kissed a boy, living in close quarters with someone who looked like the epitome of a closeted wet dream.

Realistically, I’d known for quite some time that I was gay. Girls never interested me the way they did other boys. It was all I’d heard, all throughout high school. In every locker room, in between every class, on every field trip and every social function I was forced to attend.

Have you seen what Maggie Walsh is wearing today?

Her tits are perfect.

I’d chop off my own arm to get under her shirt.

Or into that skirt.

Her ass, too…

Her lips, her hair, her eyes.

Feminine features were all they wanted.

Girls girls girls.

And to me, it was just like, yea… Shrug.

I tried looking at girls the way the other boys did. I checked out Maggie Walsh in her low-cut top and shorter than short skirt. But all I saw were plump breasts that didn’t interest me, thin, hairless legs that also didn’t interest me, scrawny arms and a face without any sharp angles to it. The only thing I could get on board with was how soft her skin looked… But most of the boys looked like they might feel soft too if I felt them. Except that their softness would cover hardness. It was something I thought about all the time… The contrast.

How soft things could also be hard, beneath the surface.

Despite me knowing with certainty that I didn’t like girls, my sexuality was still a big old disaster. Because none of the boys in my school ever talked about checking out the other boys. It just didn’t happen. So I felt like even more of an outsider than I already did in every other aspect of life, and I just couldn’t deal with it.

The only time I felt like myself was within the confines of my own thoughts. When I’d lie alone in my bed and stare at the ceiling, remembering how it felt to touch Cam’s hand. How his tongue felt on my skin that time he’d licked up my blood. That was the only thing that got me up to that edge…

Burning with the insufferable need to release.

So I’d learned how to jerk off, but even then, I didn’t do it often. Only when I couldn’t take it anymore.

The day I met Isaac, I jerked off. For the first time in a couple of months, actually. I was on the bottom bunk. He’d taken the top. And I remember feeling every movement he’d made up there. Every time he shifted or repositioned to get comfortable was like a lick of fiery yearning; a splash of kerosene onto the fire spreading inside me. I stared up at the bottom of his mattress while I reached inside my pants and stroked my dick, imagining that he could hear me, and that he liked it.

It took me three minutes to come, and when I did, he was all I could feel. I drifted off to sleep and dreamt that he wanted to kiss me. It was such a realistic dream I remember waking up and thinking it had actually happened.

Of course it hadn’t.

Come to find out Isaac was painfully straight. He was a football player, and he had a girlfriend at NYU. Her picture was on his desk, and I scowled at it every time I walked past.

Isaac and I got along well enough, but we were very different people. I hated that, because I felt so strongly for him and I just wanted him to like me. I wanted anyone to.

Months were ticking by in college, and I really didn’t feel like I’d started fresh. Sure, I enjoyed my classes. And even with my required courses, I was still able to take some cool electives, like a photography class I was super into. And in biology we were dissecting things, so that was satisfying to a part of myself I still didn’t fully understand.

But the same hopeless need seemed to fill me, and I wasn’t sure how to get rid of it.

It wasn’t as if I was a total loser at LIU. There were a few girls who’d taken an interest in me. And part of me wondered if maybe I could just force myself to hook up with them, just to get it over with. Just to see what all the fuss was about.

One night, Isaac had invited a few friends back to our dorm for a party. One of the girls, Ashley, was following me around all night, drink sloshing out of her red solo cup.

“Felix,” she’d slurred my name, grabbing onto my arm while I stood against the wall, taking large gulps of the vodka cranberry that Isaac’s best friend, Brody, had been making for everyone. “That’s a cartoon cat’s name.” She burst into a fit of giggles while I stared at her, adjusting my glasses. She smooshed herself into me, hot, cranberry-scented breath on my face as she whispered, “Do you purr like a kitten?”

I had no clue what she was talking about. All I knew was that I wasn’t interested in the feeling of her breasts on my arm, and that was troubling. Because I’d been casually peeking at Isaac all night, and he chose that moment to look up.

Our eyes met, and he grinned, showing off his elaborate dimples. Then he nodded at me.

In hindsight, I think he was probably nodding because he thought I was going to hook up with Ashley, and that would’ve qualified as pretty dope in his book. But in the moment, with my hormones rumbling the beginning of an earthquake inside me, and the booze swimming through my bloodstream making everything feel much better than it really was, his smile and nod were silent invitations.

And so, I started thinking, planning, and concocting… wondering about the likelihood that he might want me to climb up to his bunk later.

I thought about it all night. All throughout the desktop beer pong tournament, and especially while Ashley followed me into the bathroom and dropped to her knees. In her defense, she tried kissing me first, but I wasn’t feeling it. I sort of shoved her face away from mine and I guess she thought I was shoving it down… Where she went willingly.

I won’t lie and say the feeling of her uncoordinatedly sucking on my barely hard dick didn’t feel good, because it did. It just wasn’t the ideal scenario. Still, I was able to close my eyes and imagine Isaac, and then poof! I came all down her chin, with no warning.

She was kind of mad. I guess you’re supposed to alert the blowing party when you’re going to bust. Who knew?

After that, Ashley left to go bother someone else, and the party wound down. I was pretty drunk by the time everyone had trickled out of our dorm. Isaac and I were cleaning up and chatting casually. I really wasn’t that casual, but I was trying to act like I was. Isaac was slurring, and when he went to climb up to his bunk, he tumbled onto the floor.

He was giggling up a storm like a drunken fool when I blurted, “You can crash in my bed if you want.” His laughter sort of faded as he peeked at me, and I shook my head fast. “I just mean… If you can’t get up to your bed. I’ll sleep up there.”

He stared at me for a moment, and my entire life flashed before my eyes. Then he shrugged and said, “Sure, bro. Whatever.”

He cuddled up in my bed and was snoring in a matter of seconds.

It presented me with a moral conundrum. I knew the right thing to do was to go up into his bed and go to sleep. But as I stood there staring at him, my dream boy asleep in my bed, I couldn’t pull myself away. He just looked so perfect. Like he belonged there.

The decision was already made. And I was sure he wouldn’t mind…

Climbing into the bed next to him, carefully, I made sure not to touch him for risk of waking him up. I lay there all night watching him sleep. And when the watching got to be too much, I reached out and brushed my fingers along his back. But he didn’t wake up. He just kept sleeping peacefully, breathing in and out. Because he was comfortable with me. He wanted to be in my bed.

I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

Unfortunately, the next morning, everything had changed.

Isaac wouldn’t look at me for days after the party. Every time I tried to talk to him, he’d either just shrug me off or answer with one-word grunts. It was like he hated me, and I couldn’t figure out why. I thought we’d had a good night.

I thought he was happy.

But he wasn’t. He was upset, and I was the cause. It drove me fucking crazy.

I went home for Christmas break and my father had moved out, just like he’d said he would. It was just Mom, Zach, and me, opening sad presents for a melancholy holiday.

And I came back to Isaac making out with his girlfriend, Polly, in the dorm. I’m sorry, not just the dorm. In my fucking bed.

After that, I did the only sensible thing I could think to do.

I lost my virginity out of spite.

There was this guy named Bobby. He had expressed interest in me, the same sort of way that girls like Ashley did, only much less in your face, since we were boys, and even though it was New York City, boys didn’t openly hang all over you the way girls did, unless they knew for a fact you were interested. Don’t ask me why. The whole thing seems kind of skewed, but that’s a whole other topic.

Bobby was openly gay, and he certainly wasn’t afraid to let people know it. I respected that. And sure, he wasn’t really my type… But that was a good thing. Because so far, my type was just large, brooding and straight, which did nothing for me. So after Isaac’s little display in my bed, I decided to make my own stand.

And I started dating Bobby.

Maybe dating is a stretch, since we only went on like three dates, and they were mediocre at best. But still, I had an excuse to bring him around the dorm. And one night, when I knew Isaac could be coming home at any moment, I let Bobby steal my virginity.

Literally, because I wasn’t even sure I wanted to do it all the way. But I guess he did. And even though I was the one who found my way inside him, it didn’t feel like I was in charge at all.

Of course, Isaac didn’t come home until after we were done, but he definitely picked up on what had happened. And after Bobby left, I searched Isaac’s face for any sign that he was disappointed or jealous. But he was a rock. I got nothing from him.

And I hated it.

That night spurred my obsession even further. It was like the brattiest parts of me were activated when I was around Isaac. I just wanted him to want me so bad… I wanted him to care, and he obviously didn’t. It made me nuts.

Ultimately, I think that was what pushed me over the edge. I became much more brazen as the months went on. I broke it off with Bobby because he was way too much for me. Our personalities clashed beyond what I was willing to put up with. Plus, I was in love with someone else, and he just couldn’t stack up.

Things got blurry the more frustration bubbled inside me. Dancing around Isaac in the dorm was like a minefield. I could tell he was wary of me, but I didn’t know why. I spent hours, days, weeks obsessing about it. Was it just because I’d fallen asleep next to him that one time? Was that really the worst thing in the world?

Whatever had turned him against me was something he wasn’t ready to let go of. We talked, but never about anything deeper than some quick chatter about classes or the upcoming end of the semester. Our freshman year was almost over, and I just knew we wouldn’t be paired together as roommates in the fall. If I wanted him to know how I felt, I needed to do something rash. Throw all my cards down onto the table.

One night, Isaac came home late from a date. I was studying at my desk when he stumbled in, smelling like a brewery. I was going to ignore him, but then he started humming.

Tears For Fears. One of my favorite songs. I’d always loved eighties music.

“Why are you singing that song?” I spun in my chair to face him.

He was hobbling on one foot, trying to get out of his shoes as he chuckled, black strands of hair falling in his face. In that moment, I despised him for how good-looking he was. Even more, I detested how much he knew it; how much he knew I wanted him. He was dangling it in front of my face like a carrot to a starving horse.

“I don’t know…” He huffed. “I heard it on the radio. What’s it to you, anyway?”

I rolled my eyes and went back to my homework. But I could feel him behind me, inching closer. His breathing was loud, like it was coming from me. It synched up with my own exhales.

My face tilted, and I found him standing right next to me, an intense look in his sky-blue eyes. I couldn’t place it, but when his tongue swiped his lower lip, I stood up.

We were close, less than a foot between us. My heart was racing like crazy as I reached out. I just wanted to touch his sharp jaw, brush that silky obsidian away from his face.

But he dipped back, dodging my touch so hard he stumbled and fell onto his ass. He scared himself more than anything. I hadn’t even touched him. But the fear I could see in his eyes was surprising. He was terrified of the tiny spark of interest growing inside him.

It was a feeling I knew all too well.

So I dropped onto my knees and quickly crawled over him.

“Yo, get off me,” he grunted, panting as he tried to fight me off.

But I grabbed his forearms and held him down. “Why don’t you just let me help you?” I growled over him, pinning him to the floor.

It was crazy, because he was a football player, and technically bulkier than me. He should have easily been able to push me off, bash me in the face, kick the shit out of me. But he didn’t.

Instead, he was stubborn and scared… and it was the hottest thing I’d ever seen in my life.

He was afraid of me. Isaac Remillard was afraid of Felix Darcey.

It was a revelation.

While I was holding him down, trying to figure out what to do next, we both realized I had an erection. Like, a big one.

It kind of snapped me out of it enough for him to scurry out from under me and dart out of the room. He never came back. And the next morning, I was called into the Dean’s office, where they informed me that Isaac was switching rooms, and I was facing expulsion.

Fucking bullshit. The whole thing was just a misunderstanding.

Still, my parents had to drive out and hear the entire inflated story. Everyone on campus was talking about it. It was humiliating.

I received only a warning, but I was kicked out of housing. My parents were pissed, but they wanted me to stay in school. Or they needed me in school, to keep me occupied and out of their hair.

My dad got me an apartment in Brooklyn Heights, on Amity Street. And that one-bedroom sanctuary is where things changed for me.

I saw Isaac around campus a few times after that, but we didn’t speak again until we crossed paths in a gay club in Manhattan a year later. He acted like he wanted nothing to do with me while he danced and made out with some random twink. And I just smirked to myself.

I had company in my apartment, anyway. Someone waiting for me…

I’ve always found life to be funny, comical in the way things work out. The plan of the universe is baffling at times.

I could have killed Isaac. Deep down, I always wanted to. For a myriad of reasons, the main one being that I wanted him too badly. But he was spared… If only he knew how he’d skirted around death.

I winked at him as I left the club that night, heading for my little apartment in Brooklyn Heights. I needed to get back.

The body was getting cold.

Seven days…

That’s all it took for me to pack up and move to New York.

End-date undetermined, this work trip is sort of open-ended, but based on my conversation with Manuel Blanco and his secretary, or whoever that person—Yari Estevez—is to him, the job will last as long as I need it to.

Normally, such spontaneity and lack of concrete scheduling would irritate the hell out of me. But this job is just too enticing to pass up.

I think it’s exactly what I’ve been waiting for… Since before I even decided to become a clinical psychiatrist.

Since I was fourteen.

After signing a nondisclosure agreement, I was given more specific details about what exactly I’m being hired to do, and what will be required of me. And the excessive sum of money I’m being paid is actually only the second most thrilling part of the job.

When I heard the name Felix Darcey, I almost gasped.

Felix Darcey, also known as The Carver, was by far the most prolific serial killer of the last few decades. Since the days of Ted Bundy, John Wayne Gacy, and Richard Ramirez, for certain. We haven’t seen anyone like him in quite some time, which also happens to make him the most fascinating of the criminally deranged I’ve been alive to experience.

Darcey being “killed” by police last year during their attempt to arrest him was a travesty. I remember feeling actively depressed when I heard the news that day.

“Imagine the things we could have learned from him,” I’d said to Gabrielle, who scrunched her face and gave me a look.

“He’s a killer, Lem,” she replied, as if that somehow meant he didn’t qualify to be considered interesting. “He deserves to be dead for what he did.”

Like you wouldn’t have defended him for the right price, I’d thought. But I kept that comment to myself, knowing it would only cause a fight I had no desire to delve into.

“I’m just saying… to be able to get inside his mind would be thrilling. He’s a rare case of humanity.”

She’d flopped over in my bed and scoffed. “Who would want to be inside the mind of a vicious psychopath?”

Well, that person is now on his way to a remote island off the coast of Long Island, New York, to do just that. Because much to my own enthrall, Felix Darcey is very much alive. And I’ve been hired to examine him.

An emotion I haven’t felt in so long it almost startles me, weaves its way around my stomach. I think it’s jittery excitement, and I remind myself to remain professional as the ferry coasts through the ocean.

I’m seated alone on the large passenger transport boat. The only other person around is the man who picked me up at LaGuardia Airport. I’m not even sure of his name… He hasn’t spoken a word to me.

I’m fine with the no chit-chat. As we know, it’s my least favorite thing.

But also, I’m more consumed by my own thoughts right now, and I need to sort and file them, to ensure that when I arrive and finally meet Manuel Blanco face-to-face, I’m my typical, immensely professional self. The eagerness I have inside me to do this job needs to be stowed. The work is too important to be blundered by my own inner zeal, which honestly feels more juvenile than what I’m used to.

I’m not surprised, though. For more than half my life, I’ve been wanting to do exactly what I’ll be doing on this strange island… within the walls of a prison that’s been expertly kept secret from public knowledge.

Alabaster Penitentiary… The name alone comes with it an image. One of a dark and dreary locale inhabited by the world’s most heinous criminals, all of whom the world believes to be dead.

It’s fascinating, all of it. I’m interested in which other inmates are locked away in Alabaster Penitentiary, yet it’s an inquiry that will have to remain just that.

My chief concern is The Carver.

Scrolling through emails on my phone, my mind wanders back to my conversation with Trevel the other day. Our last session for a while. He was understandably distraught when finding out I was referring him to a colleague in my absence.

“I don’t want to see anyone else, though,” he’d gasped while yanking his hair at the roots and pacing around my office. “You’re the only one I trust.”

“I understand that, Trevel.” I nodded. “And I sympathize. Unfortunately, this job is one that I can’t pass up.” He let out a scoff of skepticism, shaking his head as my eyes followed him back and forth. “You’ll be in great hands with Dr. Callahan.”

Trevel growled and grabbed the lamp off of my side table, whipping it across the room. My head cocked as I gazed up at him, keeping my face still, letting him know with my eyes that I would not be reacting to his temper tantrum.

He leaned over me and grated out the words, “What if I end up doing something bad… while you’re gone?”

My eyes narrowed up at him. “That would be disappointing… Wouldn’t it, Trevel?”

The way our gazes remained locked for those long, stretching seconds replays in my mind. The way his eyes darkened into a deep purple, like that of a jungle flower. The emotions he refused to let out for so long… Things I hadn’t seen since I first met him in the psychiatric facility. It was as if he was taunting me. Daring me to leave him, making me responsible for his potential actions.

When we all know I’m in as much control of them as he is.

Regardless of his threats, and knowing that leaving Trevel without my care could be like leaving a live wire unattended on a busy sidewalk, he was the only one of my patients I was hesitant to leave. For the mere fact that his case has sustained me for so long.

But that’s all about to change. Because outside the window, I see an island on the horizon. And on this island, a new project awaits.

Roughly twenty-minutes later, the ferry comes to a stop, and I’m instructed back into the black SUV, which was parked on the deck below. I hadn’t noticed that it was raining, but once inside the car and driving, the windshield wipers swish back and forth rapidly. The drive only lasts about three minutes before we’re pulling right up to what looks like a side entrance of the enormous, dismal building I have to assume is Alabaster Penitentiary.

I can’t help how my eyes widen as I gaze out the window at the monstrosity before us. Even just taking in one side of the place confirms my initial assumptions. It looks like something you’d see in the movies, especially with the darkened gray skies and rain framing its destitution. The seagulls’ squawks sound like those of crows. The only thing left to complete the vibe would be a single bolt of lightning and a loud crack of thunder. Give it time.

The silent driver hops out without a word—naturally—and rounds the vehicle to open my door for me. He’s holding an umbrella to shield me from the rain, and I can’t help how much I feel like this is all for show…

Manuel Blanco wants to impress me. He wants me to see the image of him as the Warden of Alabaster Penitentiary and the master of Alabaster Isle, presiding over this place like his own dark kingdom.

And when I spot him, standing with a large officer at his side like a guard dog, I see exactly that. The image is visible precisely as he’s portraying it to me, and I have to give him props. This is quite the introduction.

“Welcome.” Manuel Blanco extends his hand to shake mine with a grin. “It’s so good to have you.”

He looks exactly as he did in the pictures I found of him. Because of course I did my own research into Manuel Blanco, or The Ivory, as he’s often referred. He’s not someone you can just happen upon with a quick Google search, either. It takes digging, and even a wave of credentials like mine, to find any information on him. And sure enough, there is no mention anywhere of Alabaster Isle, which is to be expected.

All I know about this island is what I was told in the welcome packet emailed to me under strictly encrypted lock-and-key; Alabaster Penitentiary was built roughly fifteen years ago as an undercover government-funded prison. And at the same time, the Ivory Mansion was built across the island as a residence for Manuel Blanco, and eventually the staff of the prison.

That’s it.

I’m not doubting the truth behind those measly details, but I’d have to be highly gullible to believe that’s all there is to the story of this place.

Manuel Blanco, my strange, impeccably dressed, ivory-haired new boss, gestures to the giant beast of a man at his side and says, “Doctor, this is my second in command, Officer John Chevelle. Officer, meet Dr. Lemuel Love.”

The guard’s dark, pierced eyebrow immediately quirks. “Dr. Love…?”

I have decades of practice in not reacting to people’s reactions to my name, so I simply stare at him before muttering, “You heard correct.”

It’s just a name. Let’s move on.

The Correctional Officer, John Chevelle, looks me up and down, studiously, as if I’m not what he expected. I just stand still and blink, waiting for him to regain his manners, since I don’t need to look him over to recognize that he’s almost exactly what I expected from this place.

Blanco clears his throat and Officer Chevelle seems to snap back into place, extending his hand for me to shake. “Good to have you,” he says blankly.

I’m intrigued by the dynamic between the two of them. I can immediately sense that this second-in-command officer is hypnotized by The Ivory.

I wonder if he brainwashes his employees to keep them loyal… Like a cult leader.

Manuel Blanco asks, “Shall we?” Then turns and stalks inside the prison’s side entrance. Officer Chevelle follows after him like an eager puppy, and I take one last look around the darkened exterior of the prison and the surrounding scape of forest before entering my new place of employment.

The interior is even creepier, which I hadn’t thought was possible. While the Warden and Officer Chevelle lead me around the winding corridors, I can’t help but take in the conditions…

To say it’s shoddy would be doing it a favor. The place is quite literally crumbling. Black mold and leaks everywhere, cracks in the concrete. It seems to get slightly better in certain areas, like the East Wing, which is where I’m being told I’ll conduct most of my business. But as I’m given a tour, I realize there is no possible way this building is only fifteen years old. Especially when walking past what Blanco refers to as the examination rooms. I spot an antiquated exam chair with leather straps and shackles… Followed by padded cells. Old school Rubber Rooms.

This is the stuff I used to research when writing my first book…

I didn’t think these things existed anywhere outside of museums. To see them here, and apparently in active use, is nothing shy of extremely intriguing.

Apparently, most of the doors are controlled by operators in a control room, which is also very interesting. It means that this building has servers and cameras watching your every move. Not that such things worry me, but I’ve already been guaranteed by Blanco several times that I’m allowed free rein of the entire prison.

A point he drives home when he says, “I’ve hired you because you’re not like the rest, Dr. Love. I understand that masks must be worn. I wear them myself. But make no mistake, I want you for your true ideals. Those reflected in that masterpiece you wrote all those years back. You will examine Felix Darcey in ways that no one else has, or will, or can. I want you inside every crevice of The Carver, Doctor. Leave no mental stone unturned. And do so by any and all means necessary, worrying not of the consequences.”

It’s been a few hours. We’ve explored many an area of Alabaster Penitentiary, but still, I get the sense I haven’t even grazed the surface of what this place holds.

I met another C.O., Joy Jameson. She’s the only female on this island, apparently, though interacting with her for only a few moments and I get the sense she’s tougher than even her large, angry counterpart.

Officer Chevelle has been giving me his grouchy glare for the better part of three hours now, and while I’m sure it works wonders with everyone else around here, it’s not making me want to do anything he’s been blathering to me about any more.

Okay, maybe I’m being sort of obstinate. Surely I understand that Felix Darcey is dangerous. From what I’ve been told, he’s already killed one inmate since he’s been here.

But the thing is… I made a conscious decision never to fear a human being, or what they can potentially do to me, again. And The Carver, no matter how threatening, is no exception. The fact that he’s hazardous to the lives of the other inmates here, well… That’s not something I feel compelled to care about. Regardless of how important it is to the Head Correctional Officer.

We’ve found our way back to the office that’s been deemed mine. Manuel Blanco had to leave several minutes ago, stalking away, cell phone in hand, but not without first extending an invitation my way for dinner once I’m settled.

I’ve already been handed a set of keys to all of the doors in the East Wing and solitary confinement, including the cells, much to Officer Chevelle’s chagrin. And even with the general understanding that the control room operators will open any door for me, no holds barred, the officer and I are still bickering.

I think he just wants to feel like he’s in control of this entire place, and my presence sort of eclipses that notion. If this is the case, then I definitely understand why he’s so threatened and stabby around me. I swear I caught his eye twitching a moment ago, and it took everything in me not to crack a smile.

The other, more important thing I’ve been given, is Felix Darcey’s file.

Now, naturally, I did my own research on The Carver before coming here. Much of the information I already knew from when I was following the investigation into his crimes before he was caught. Also, Yari had sent me a dossier on Felix’s arrest, and his time in Alabaster Pen leading up to right now, which I’ve been reading like my new favorite book for the last week.

But his file, his actual confidential file, is so much more than all of that. It’s everything, and I mean everything.

Everything there is to know about his childhood and his family. All the known evidence against him. All the details of his crime scenes never released to the press, like photographs of bodies, coroner’s reports and whatnot… His up-to-date physicals.

It’s all here, in my hands.

Everything prior to what I’ll get out of him.

Flipping through the pages of Darcey’s file, I reacquaint myself with the name of the officers who’d closed in on him… NYPD Homicide Detective Jacob Courtney, working in conjunction with FBI Special Agent Keisha Barnes. Ah yes, I remember now…

The last time I read about Detective Courtney and Special Agent Barnes, it was reported that they cornered Felix in the park by his home in Brooklyn Heights, and he lunged at them with a knife in his hand. The reports claim that because of that, he was shot and killed during the arrest process. But it’s still widely speculated—mostly conspiracy theorists in subreddits—that this is bullshit.

I feel stupid for even believing that story now… It always seemed far too convenient. Felix Darcey was never the type to lunge at anyone. He’d probably kill himself before he tried to go for the cops.

To think that these are all things I’ll get to ask him about… To speak with him in person about all these details… I’m experiencing a level of delight I never knew I could.

So when Officer Chevelle decides to leave me to my bask in the gloriousness of the chunky file I’m leafing through, I ask him to bring me my new patient.

I’m sure I could wait until tomorrow to hold our first official meeting, but I’m too anxious. Too eager to get into the same room with him.

Flicking back to the beginning of the file while Officer Chevelle storms away, I read the profile, and some basic upbringing info…

Born February 3rd, 1998 in Fairfield, Connecticut, to Dr. Harmon Darcey and his wife, Charlotte.

His father was a neuroscientist—now retired—who worked with Yale and then Columbia’s research divisions. His mother was a housewife and homemaker. They bought the house Felix grew up in shortly after they were married in ninety-six, and owned it until they divorced three years ago, while Felix was still going to LIU.

I’m glued to the pages while I read, waiting for him to grace me with his presence. And I’m captivated already. So much of his history, his childhood and upbringing are like a cookie cutter mold for murderous sociopaths…

Bipolar mother. Workaholic father.

Head trauma. When he was eight, he was trying to build a fort in the backyard with his brother and somehow ended up being knocked unconscious by a two-by-four. He was brought to the hospital, where he had six stitches and was diagnosed with a severe concussion.

I check the next page for the standard killing of animals, and sure enough, there were reports of cats in the neighborhood going missing, along with some incident with a fox…

But before I can get to it, my office door flings open, and I turn to find curious eyes behind black-framed glasses, tousled chestnut hair and long limbs strapped into a straitjacket.

The Carver is here.

“We all deserve this.”

“No…”

“Each and every one of us… We’re here for a damn good reason.”

“No no no…”

“We were born this way.”

Rolling my body along the padded walls of my cell, I listen to the screams up the hall, like a symphony in my ears. It’s a sound I’ve gotten used to over the years, the blood-curdling yelps of people who are afraid. The natural instinct to release your nerves through bellows of pain, desperation and fright, working its way up your throat via your vocal cords.

My victims never really screamed much, because I used the element of surprise to my advantage. Screaming draws attention, after all. Something you can’t have when you’re actively trying to be sneaky.

Many of them would cry. Beg and plead… The ones who were conscious for it. The ones who deserved it. I always liked letting them know they were about to die; that there was a reason why today would be their last.

The others, though, I kept blissfully unaware. I didn’t want them scared… And I definitely didn’t want them to be mad at me for killing them. It would defeat the purpose.

I wanted to keep them happy. Keep them with me.

The screams from up the hall are satisfying. Mainly because they’re not mine. They’re his.

They’ve really been going ham on O’Malley with the electricity. It worries me a bit, because I don’t want him to forget who I am. I want him to remember that I’m the serial killer he thinks he’s nothing like. If he forgets about it, then I lose the satisfaction of proving him wrong.

O’Malley and I haven’t spoken as much as I would have liked to at this point, especially considering that we’re always neighbors, whether we’re in the exam rooms or the padded cells. He’s not a big talker, it seems. He talks to himself more than he talks to me. Screams at no one.

Maybe the walls, or the guards, or the doctors we all know are around here somewhere. Or maybe he’s screaming at The Ivory, since everything that happens in here is truly his doing.

O’Malley screams more than all thirty-six of my victims put together. He shouts about his innocence, his blamelessness, his victimization. When he’s not screaming in pain, like he is now at the charbroiling of his brain from inside his skull, he roars nonstop without taking a single sliver of responsibility. And it drives me fucking nuts.

I don’t know what he’s done to be in here. I’ve asked, but he won’t tell me. Regardless, I know he belongs. He’s crazier than the craziest person I’ve seen in this prison so far; that much is clear. No one is innocent, especially people locked away with electrodes stuck to their temples. The fact that he blames everyone for his circumstances makes my eye twitch.

I’m not saying I’m the picture of stability or anything. Clearly, I have my own issues. But one thing you won’t ever find me doing is blaming other people for what I’ve done.

Whether or not they deserved it isn’t the point. That shit was all me, and I’ve made my peace with it.

It’s making a lot more sense now, why O’Malley thinks he’s nothing like me. I just wish I could find out what he’s done…

I suppose this interest I’ve taken in him is like a pet project. Something to distract me from where I am. Sure, being in the East Wing is infinitely more entertaining than solitary, but that’s only because each day you’re subjected to a new experiment. Yesterday, they held my eyes open while they forced me to watch some seriously deranged shit, even by my standards. It was like something straight out of A Clockwork Orange, and sure, in the moment, it was severely unpleasant. But once I stopped shaking, I couldn’t help bursting into a fit of giggles.

Fun fact: it was shortly after that fun little mental game that a frazzled Dash came barreling through the East Wing, free as a bird. From what I could tell, he escaped Rook’s hold for a few minutes. The poor rookie…

It was nice looking at Dash’s pretty face again, though. Even if only for a few minutes, with him all skittish. I’ll admit, I was worried for him. And I’m the one being tortured in the name of research.

I don’t know what they expect to gain from these experiments, but I can’t imagine they’re garnering any groundbreaking results.

When I’m on my twentieth rotation around the room, it occurs to me that the screaming has stopped, and there are shuffling noises coming my way. I immediately dart to the door so I can watch what’s happening through the tiny window.

Sure enough, there’s Claude the orderly and Dr. Templeton dragging a limp O’Malley up the hall, right past my cell. They open the door to the cell next to mine and shove him inside, locking up and leaving without a word. Leaning up against the wall, I listen closely to the baked potato formerly known as Kieran O’Malley.

I hear him mumbling, but I can’t make out his words. So I tap on the wall. “O’Malley? You alright over there?”

“Don’t talk to me,” he gurgles. “Yer a curse.”

I can’t help the snort of laughter that gusts out. “Thank you. I take that as a compliment.”

“Not… funny,” he breathes unsteadily, and I can hear the sounds of him struggling in his straitjacket.

“You need to lighten up, babe.” I prop my head on the wall with a grin. “You’re in here for good, just like the rest of us. Haven’t you realized, the more you struggle, the worse it gets?”

“I don’t… I don’t care,” he sniffles. “I didn’t do it. Timmy made me…”

Tracing a tear in the padding, I ask, “Who’s Timmy? Your boyfriend?”

“I ain’t a goddamn faggot!” he roars at me through the wall, and I chuckle again.

“Jesus… Calm down.” I roll my eyes. “My ex-boyfriend, Isaac, he used to pretend he wasn’t gay. He swore up and down he didn’t like me watching him, but I know he did.” I scoff at the memory. “Such a tease.”

“Yer a real sick fuck, yeh know that?”

I kick the wall with my worn sneaker. “Oh yeah, and you’re not? Listen up, asshole. Whatever happened to Timmy is on you. Don’t you get that?? You’re no better than any of us, including me. So get off your goddamn high horse. You’re a monster, just like me.”

He lets out a growl, and something bumps against the wall separating us. I think it was his head.

“Fuck you!” he shouts. “He was my brother! Why would I kill him?? It makes no sense. I was set up, I’m telling yeh! Framed!” His bellows turn swiftly into whimpers, and he begins weeping.

I can’t help the surprise that ripples through me. He’s sort of confessing, which is what I’ve been waiting for. I’ve been dying to find out what he did, and from the sound of it, he killed his brother.

No judgement… But this dude is clearly whacked.

Pressing my forehead to the worn padding, I listen while O’Malley cries. “Shh… It’s okay, Kieran. Your brother is dead, that’s all that matters. And it’s your fucking fault.”

His sobs turn hysterical. My lips quirk.

Take that, you self-righteous little worm.

The sound of a door opening distracts me from the new song I’m enjoying, and the familiar loud clunky footsteps send a wave of realization, stiffening my muscles.

“Against the wall, inmate,” Velle’s voice calls from outside my cell as his keys jingle.

I’m already against a wall, so I just stay where I am as he enters, then immediately shackles my feet. I’m not sure where we’re going, but I don’t even bother asking because he won’t tell me.

He simply shoves me toward the door and grunts, “Walk.”

O’Malley’s sobs echo, growing softer while we trudge up the long hall, through one door, then another. Velle is guiding me along, down the corridor and up to a door I don’t recognize. He pushes it open to reveal an office. And a tall man standing with his back to us.

When he hears us, the man turns. And our eyes lock.

The breath in my lungs sweeps out, unexpectedly. My head cocks right as I blink at him, this large, very attractive man staring at me while clutching a case file in his hands.

Who… are you?

Velle removes my shackles while the man and I continue to hold one another’s gaze. “I’ll be right outside.”

“No need, Officer,” the man replies, still staring right at me, the rich amber in his eyes visible even from across the room. They look like torches in the woods. “I’ll take it from here.”

His voice sends chills over my entire body, deep and as smooth as molasses.

Velle says something, arguing with the guy about just leaving me here, but I can barely even hear what he’s saying. I’m too busy watching the fellow who’s watching me.

The way he’s looking at me is something I’ve never seen before. Studious, secretly delighted. He’s not looking at me the way most people do now, like I’m something that needs to be guarded at all costs. Like a dangerous criminal.

He’s looking at me like I’m a riddle to be decoded. A puzzle that was just placed in front of him for solving.

Is this my new doctor??

When he and Velle stop bickering, Velle leaves, closing the door behind him. And I’m just sort of swaying in place, tucked away in my straitjacket while this man looks me over. But says nothing.

I’m suddenly feeling extremely vulnerable; exposed, and I’m not sure why. The way he’s wordlessly gazing at me is bringing a strange heat to my cheeks. I swallow hard and look down at my shoes.

What is going on here? I don’t care about doctors. Why am I reacting this way?

It must just be because he’s gorgeous. And I mean, like, crazy, stupid beautiful.

He’s taller than me by a few inches, and obviously thickly muscled. The way his navy-blue button-down shirt is draped around him, stretched across his broad shoulders and sliding down his torso, tucked into tailored pants and fastened with a black belt around his waist…

He looks very professional. Dapper. Less like a doctor and more of an investment banker.

Just standing over there, large hands gripping a manila folder…

When my eyes slide back up to his face, I find him no longer looking at me. He’s reading something inside the folder, some files, with this bored air about him. It sticks in my throat.

Is he not impressed by me? Am I not all he thought I’d be?

Shifting from foot to foot, I wonder if I should act more like a serial killer. Should I start screaming and hollering, like O’Malley? Should I lunge at him and try to bite him?

I blink hard. Why am I second-guessing myself?? I shouldn’t care this much. Why do I feel like I need to put on a show for this guy?

Attempting to be subtle, I keep watching him while he leafs through the papers, ignoring my presence completely. My eyes scan his chiseled face, smooth brown complexion, facial hair perfectly trimmed along a very sharp jaw, and these immaculate shoulder-length dreadlocks tied back in a half-ponytail of sorts. Full lips pursed into an unimpressed line while he reads.

My teeth sink into my lower lip. Look at me. Please, please, look at me again.

His eyes fling to mine once more. Just briefly. A split second before they fall back to the file in his hands. But it was enough to make my stomach jump while I squirm inside of my straitjacket.

I open my mouth as if to say something, but I have no idea what it should be. It’s been several minutes, and he hasn’t said a single word. He’s completely ignoring me, and for some reason, it’s winding me up. It’s almost like he doesn’t care that I’m here at all, which turns me oddly twitchy. Why bring me in here if you’re not going to say anything??

The man, whom I can still only assume is my new doctor, turns away from me, waltzing casually toward the bookshelf by his desk. He looks like he’s searching for something, the file folder still in his hand. He hasn’t put it down yet, which is interesting. I wonder if it’s mine… It must be, right?

Inching closer, I attempt to get a look at the folder, to see if my name is on it. But then the man’s face shifts and he pins me with a look. My lips sit agape once more, like I want to say something to him, but I still haven’t found the words.

Should I introduce myself? I mean, he should really be doing that. It’s standard practice for the doctor to introduce himself first, isn’t it?

I’ve been to therapy sessions before, when I was a kid. And sure, I never spoke much to those guys, but that was because I knew that was what they wanted. I was always painfully aware that they wanted me to spill my secrets, and I liked holding that over their heads.

But this man doesn’t seem at all interested. In fact, it seems like he couldn’t care less if I were in the room with him or not.

I consider turning to the door and trying to leave. Velle’s still out there. Maybe I should just have him bring me back. This is a waste of time.

I don’t know what to think. I’m feeling very out of place right now.

A sort of hum escapes me in lieu of the words I can’t find, and the man turns. And when he tilts his head and stares at me again, his inquisitive amber eyes dispel everything I was just thinking.

He does want me here. I can tell.

The man finally closes the file folder, clutching it to his chest while we stare at each other some more, the air thickening in this small room. My lips aren’t moving, but I can hear myself telling him, hello. I’m Felix.

Hi, Felix.

I shiver.

Suddenly, he’s moving. He’s walking, taking steps right toward me. My body stiffens, nervous flutters racking my insides as he approaches me swiftly. My eyes lock on him while he grows closer, his nearness showcasing his size even more. He must be at least six-three, those three inches over me seeming monumental in this moment. And the broad size of him, the fabric stretched so much around obvious muscle, I think a sudden movement would burst him right out of them…

I mean, I’m not small by any means. I consider myself to be pretty damn cut, but this man is… big. Proportionately large, since he doesn’t look ‘roided-out or anything. He just looks like he hones strength into every inch of himself. Like he could pick me up and toss me around effortlessly.

And now my mouth is watering.

I gulp it down as he steps right up to me and my chin lifts.

Our eyes meet for a brief moment that seems to slow down time. Seconds tick by like carbonation bubbles of anticipation fizzling throughout my extremities. What will he do?? I’m anxiously awaiting his next move.

But then he goes to the door behind me, opening it a crack and murmuring to Velle, “All set.”

That’s it??

My stomach plummets in disappointment. I don’t want to leave yet, not without even a single word directed at me.

Before he walks away, I lean in, taking a subtle whiff of his smell, my eyes nearly rolling back in my skull. His cologne is intoxicating. Clean, like freshly laundered clothes, body wash and a few other things I’m sure I’ll be thinking about for hours.

While Velle stomps in and shackles me, I watch the man as he returns to his desk, opening the file back up to disregard my presence once more. Velle pushes me to the office door, and I hear that deep voice one last time as he mutters, thank you, Officer, on our way out.

I’m distracted as hell on the way back to my cell. My mind is running like a herd of wild stallions, wondering all sorts of things, until I just can’t keep it in for one more second.

“What was his name again?” I ask Velle.

Velle’s dark gaze falls to mine and his brows pull together. “He didn’t tell you his name?” He seems befuddled by this fact. I shake my head, and he scoffs. “It’s Dr. Love. Dr. Lemuel Love, Ph-fuckin-D.”

I can’t help the small grin that tugs at my lips as I breathe the name, “Dr. Love…”

Wow. What a name…

“I know, right?” Velle chuckles.

We reach my cell and Velle shoves me back inside, removing my shackles, and locking me away before I can even ask him anything else, like when I’ll see Dr. Love again. Not that he knows that, or would tell me if he did. But I’m just so… intrigued.

That doctor is certainly not at all what I expected when the Warden told me they were sending someone to study me. That man in there… Dr. Lemuel Love… looks like someone I would see in a club back in Manhattan, and wind up following around for days. Maybe weeks.

My thoughts bring me onto the floor, where I plop down, resting my head on the padded wall. O’Malley’s cries have since dried up, and now there’s nothing but silence, and the sounds in my brain.

A decadent brogue I’m finding myself desperate to hear again. From the first doctor I think I might actually want to speak with.

Sleeping might just be the worst part of residing in the East Wing.

At least in solitary, I had a bed. Sure, it was old and rickety, and the mattress pad felt like cardboard. But still, it was something.

Here in the East, you sleep either on the floor, or in that goddamn exam chair, and I can’t really tell which is worse. The exam chair is marginally more comfortable, I guess, but you’re usually strapped into it, so your limbs have a tendency to go numb. In the padded cells, you kind of just pass out on the floor, laced up in your straitjacket. It’s very uncomfortable, but at least the straitjacket serves as a bit of a shield from the cold. In fact, it gets pretty stuffy inside, which is some mild torture on its own. Like when a bead of sweat rolls down your back and tickles like crazy, but there’s nothing you can do about it…

I swear, I don’t want to let them know this place is getting to me, but I really fucking hate it in here. The thought that I’ve only been locked up for about six months, and I still have the rest of my life to go, is enough to drive me completely bonkers if I let it.

Rolling onto my back, I stare up at the ceiling, the same miserable off-white shade as the rest of this stupid room. The only distinguishing difference is the small square-covered light in the center, which is turned off right now. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s around midnight. But I would have no way of knowing. It could be eight p.m. It could be eight a.m.

Closing my eyes, I try to remember something good, something that will transport me out of here, if even for a few goddamn seconds. I miss dreaming so badly, I can’t stand it.

Where did my dreams go??

They used to be so vivid. Colorful and loud, scattered with faces and places I recalled, and those I didn’t.

Blood splashes across my face.

I glance down at the large form beneath me and I grin.

You’re mine now, Mr. Kline…

A distinct grunt pulls me away from my memory, and I groan out of frustration. It’s coming from the wall, which means it’s actually coming from O’Malley. Tilting my face in that direction, I hear another noise, and it registers in my mind as a moan.

I squint at the wall. Is he jerking off??

It can’t be. They leave us in straitjackets in here. There’s no way he has his hands.

But then I hear it again, the rumble of an obstructed chase. I can’t help but wonder what he’s doing over there…

Is he writhing into the floor? It seems like the only way to get some friction in this situation.

Shifting onto my front, I push my hips gradually, humping against the floor to see if it feels good. It’s alright, I guess. More frustrating than anything.

Another guttural sound comes through the wall, and I wiggle my way closer.

“You like that, don’t you, baby?” I purr, loud enough for him to hear me, an evil smirk taking over my lips.

“Fuck off!” he growls at me, and I laugh wickedly.

“Oh, but you’re so fun to play with, Kieran,” I tell him, knowing full-well my voice is interrupting whatever he was trying to do over there.

“I swear to God, if you were in front of me right now, I’d—”

“Shhh. Save the dirty talk for when it happens.” I roll onto my back, grinning at the ceiling. “Don’t worry. I’ll be in front of you one of these days, Kieran. And then we’ll see.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he murmurs, “See what?”

My smile widens, but I don’t respond. Playing with him is becoming my new favorite hobby.

He’s like a mouse in a box in my bedroom.

The sound of footsteps alerts my attention as they clomp carefully over to my door, instantly ruling out Velle or any of the other guards. They’re somehow different from even Johansson and his band of asshole doctors, or Claude the orderly. They sound more… official.

Turning toward the door, I look up at the small plexiglass window. No one is visible, but the footsteps have stopped right outside my door. Someone must be out there.

I wait in silence for a few minutes, just breathing on the floor. Watching. Until finally, a face pops into view and my heart skips.

It’s Dr. Love. He’s here.

Scooting myself into a seated position, I stare up at the window while he watches me carefully, his eyes almost lighting up the dark around him. It’s not pitch black in the corridor, but still his face is barely a shadow. His eyes are the only things I can truly see, this deep, almost bronze, gazing down at his patient on the floor.

“Hi…” I whisper, immediately hating the sound of my voice as it echoes in my mind.

Too breathy, too weak.

His lips part. And my fingers dig into the material of my straitjacket in anticipation of his voice. But he doesn’t speak.

“I’m Felix,” I mumble, then blink. “But I guess you… know that.”

My eyes fall to the floor as I suck my lower lip. You sound stupid.

“Hey, let me outta here!” O’Malley shouts, startling me.

The doctor’s eyes dart right, toward the next cell. Then they come back to mine, but only for a second before he spins and stalks away.

“Ugh!” I flop sullenly onto my back. “Nice job, O’Malley. You scared him away.”

“Who gives a shit?! I need to get out of here!” He goes on, like the simple buffoon he is.

“You’re a waste of space,” I mutter.

“Oh yeah? Fuck you, sicko.”

I roll my eyes. “Right… I’m the only sick one here.”

I tune out the rest of his ranting and raving, staring at the small square in my door and waiting for that face to come back.

Of course it doesn’t.

I’m exhausted from keeping my eyes open all night when I hear more noises. The lights are on now, but I don’t know if they just came on or if they’ve been on for a while. Clearly, I wasn’t paying attention.

Keys clink in the doors, inmates being moved around. As usual, there’s really no rhyme or reason to any of it. Sometimes we’re fed inside these cells, sometimes we’re brought elsewhere. Today, I’m graced with none other than Alabaster Pen’s own resident HBIC, Joy Jameson.

She stomps inside my cell in her combat boots, ponytail swaying as she nods at me. “Morning, killer bee. Up against the wall if you know what’s good for you.”

I can’t help but grin. She’s so surly, but unlike Velle, on her it’s oddly charming. I walk up to the wall, face-first, and she comes up behind me, releasing me from my straitjacket. I take the opportunity to shake out my arms and get some feeling back into my fingers.

Joy brings me a container of scrambled eggs and microwaved bacon, handing it to me with her left while her right stays on her Glock. “Eat up. You’ve got the new doctor next.”

I pause with my fork in the air, gaping at her. “Really? Already?”

“What were you waiting for, a Save the Date?” Joy scoffs. “He’s here for you.”

Here for me…

My stomach tumbles while I force down my breakfast, now obsessing over the fact that I’ll be seeing the doctor again. I’m nervous… But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t also excited.

I wonder what we’ll talk about… If we even talk at all.

As I’m shoveling my last bite into my mouth, Joy snatches the container away, closing it up, and tossing it outside the door. Then she comes back to me with cuffs and shackles, chaining me up and bringing me to the downstairs showers. There she lets me brush my teeth and take a quick one.

Honestly, I think I might be the only inmate who gets to call the shots this way. There’s even a little Felix cubby in the corner where they keep my extra stuff. No one else gets this kind of treatment, and I have to admit, it makes me feel pretty special.

I enjoy being a high-profile inmate. Even if it makes me a target for strange doctors.

It’s better than rotting in solitary.

When I’m done down here, Joy drags me back toward the corridor Velle brought me to yesterday. She knocks on the office door only once, not waiting for a response, before flinging the door open and shoving me inside.

I’m immediately fidgeting in place when I see him… My doctor. He’s sitting at his desk with his nose buried in that same file from yesterday. He doesn’t regard either of us while Joy removes my shackles.

“I’ll be back in forty minutes,” she says on her way out. “Call if you need anything.”

“Officer,” the doctor’s voice rings to stop her, only one word somehow sounding like the roar of a jungle cat. A chill sweeps up the back of my neck as his eyes lift from the file to Joy. “Remove the cuffs.”

Joy squints at him with her hip popped. “That’s not part of the protocol.”

The doctor glares at her in silence for five heavy seconds before rumbling, “I already had this conversation with Officer Chevelle yesterday. I’m conducting my work. If the two of you are insistent on disrupting me, I’ll be forced to call the Warden.”

My eyes flit back and forth between the two of them while their stubborn glares remain locked in a show of power. I can’t help gulping at the tension. It feels like the entire room could implode at any moment.

But eventually, Joy sighs out of obvious irritation and removes my handcuffs, spinning out of the room and slamming the door behind her. I’m left standing, sort of fluttering by the entrance of the room, unchained and unstrapped. My fingers wiggle on their own at my sides while I look around.

It’s not a particularly large office or anything, but still, I feel a sense of freedom. No straitjacket, no cuffs, no shackles, no padded cell. I’m just standing here, arms swaying. If I wanted to, I could walk over to that bookshelf and pick up a book.

Glancing at the doctor, I find him watching me, that analytical look he had on yesterday decorating his features. And suddenly, I really want to know what he’ll do if I try touching something. So I take small, tentative steps toward his bookshelf. And he just watches me all the while.

Wandering over, I stop in front of it, peeking at him over my shoulder. He’s still just staring. So I reach out and brush my fingers over the spines of the books.

It feels like I’m doing something forbidden. A tingle zips through me.

Picking up a book, I touch the cover gently, reading the title to myself. It’s a behavioral studies textbook. I flick the pages slowly, peering at the doctor once more. He sits back casually in his chair, folding his arms over his chest while he watches me.

My tongue swipes my lower lip as I put the book back and go for another. This one is about the American serial killer.

Squeezing the book between my fingers, I twirl to face him. “Have you read all of these?”

Wriggling beneath the weight of his gaze, I wait eagerly for him to speak. He has to say something to me, right?? I mean, he can’t go another session without uttering a word…

After a moment, his head does a little dip. “These aren’t my books. I just got here yesterday.”

I almost choke on how stupid I feel. “Right…”

My eyes fall away, and the room goes silent once more, oxygen weighted with the lingering foolishness of our first interaction. The only thing I can hear is my own rushing blood, the adrenaline of not knowing what to expect from this man taking me over.

But then he says, “Would you like to read one?”

My chin jumps. “I could have a book…?”

“Why not?” His head slants.

My mouth hangs open for a minute while I think about how to respond. “They’ve never given us books in here. Or music. Anything entertaining, really.”

The doctor shifts in his chair, leaning in on the desk, closer to where I’m standing. Then he nods at the shelf. “Choose one.”

I can’t help how my face lights up. I feel it happening, a grin forming on my lips as I turn to the shelf and eye its contents. I haven’t read a book in so long, at this point I think I’d enjoy just about anything. That said, I want to pick something good. Most of the books on this shelf are psychology journals and things that sound kind of boring.

I also don’t want to take too long choosing, in case he changes his mind, but I make sure to really look over all the options. Something catches my eye, and my fingers pluck it out.

Beneficial Brainwashing by Dr. Melvin Strange. I smirk at the name…

Turning to face him, I state with confidence, “I’ll take this one.”

My grin falls away fast when I realize that he’s gawking at me, eyes rounded in some sort of surprise. He looks much less aloof than he’s been up until this point. I glance at the book in my hands.

His throat clears. And he nods.

Then he goes back to his file.

Okay…

Clutching my book to my chest, I wander around the room some more, all the while watching the doctor in my peripheral. He’s just reading the file, but every once in a while, I catch him peeking up at me.

Minutes are passing, and we’re still not talking, and it’s driving me insane. He still hasn’t even introduced himself to me. This guy has to be the strangest human being I’ve ever encountered. Isn’t he supposed to be asking me questions? What’s going on??

When I decide I’ve had enough of the insufferable silence, I come up to the edge of his desk and lean against it. “Are you ever going to tell me your name?”

He angles his face in my direction, and I take a moment to admire his complexion. He has great skin, especially on his face. Smooth, not many lines. Maybe a few, but still, I think it’s clear that he takes care of himself. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s in his early thirties.

“Would you like me to tell you my name?” His voice startles me.

I shrug casually. “I mean… yea. You’re the new doctor who’s here to study me, right? Shouldn’t we like… introduce ourselves?”

He blinks at me a few times, with no discernible emotions on his face at all. This man is impossible to get a read on. I’m usually great at sniffing out people’s intentions right away, but this guy is a total mystery.

I won’t lie… It’s massively intriguing.

He stands up, slowly, so that we’re face to face, with only a couple of feet between us. My eyes hang on his while he leers down at me where I’m leaning my ass on his desk, feeling very unsure about this stance. It’s a vulnerable position. He could shove me backward and pin me down…

If he wanted to…

“My name is Dr. Lemuel Love, PhD,” he says, rumbling right into me. I’m frozen in place, and he’s holding me there with his penetrating gaze, his overpowering closeness, and that scent…

God, he smells so good.

His hand extends, and my eyes drop to it before jumping back up to his. He lifts his brows impatiently. He wants to shake my hand…?

I’m mesmerized.

This man… He’s not afraid of me, or angry at my existence because I’m an evil monster who’s done treacherous things. In fact, he barely even seems to register any of that, and I can’t tell if it’s a game, an act to get me to drop my guard, or if he’s genuinely just here to do a job.

But the most captivating thing about it is how desperately I’m craving his attention already.

Gulping down all these vast insecurities, I murmur, “Nice to… meet you, Dr. Love. I’m Felix.”

And my hand slides into his. He grips it, squeezing and shaking subtly.

I can’t even comprehend how my body is reacting to touching him. It feels like I’m on fire. Sizzling electricity singeing my blood, burning me from the inside out. I haven’t touched another person in so long, but I’m not even sure that’s the only reason for this reaction.

And his hand is so wide. Rugged, but still soft enough for me to imagine how it might feel in other places…

“I know who you are,” Dr. Love tells me, that voice like velvet. It almost knocks me over.

Just as my fingertips are sneaking toward his wrist, he lets go of my hand and steps back, returning to the file on his desk.

“And yes, I am here to study you,” he adds blankly.

He doesn’t speak another word after that.

Ten minutes of me fidgeting in silence later, Joy returns, knocking once on the door before bursting inside. “Ready to go, killer bee?”

I can’t help the look I give her. I’m not sure about the nickname, but she seems to love it.

She chuckles, coming to where my ass is still propped on Dr. Love’s desk, snapping the shackles around my ankles. But when she goes for my wrists, she notices the book I’m gripping for dear life, and lifts her brows. At me first, then Dr. Love.

He’s not paying attention, of course, so she clears her throat, loudly. He looks up, slow and unenthused.

“I’m not sure if you know this, Doctor, but patients in the East aren’t allowed any contraband whatsoever.” She narrows her gaze at him suspiciously.

“Felix wants that book,” Dr. Love says robotically. No emotion, nothing for argument’s sake. He’s simply stating a fact.

“I don’t care what he wants,” Joy growls.

Dr. Love folds his arms over his chest and cocks his head. “Are we going to keep butting heads, Officer? Really… You’re making my job rather difficult, and I’ve only been here one day.”

Joy mumbles under her breath, “I’ll give you difficult, you mother…”

She snatches the book out of my hands, tucking it under her arm while she fastens my cuffs. Then she hands me the book to hold, dragging me out of the office with only one last lingering glance shot at my new doctor. She’s obviously pissed, storming up the hall, not really waiting for me to follow her, but then turning around to bark hurry up, inmate at me.

“Fucking doctors.” She huffs while shoving me inside my cell. She removes my chains and locks the door before stomping off without another word.

And I’m just standing here grinning because I have a book in my hands, and I’m straitjacket-free.

Later that night, the familiar steps and mumbles of Dr. Johansson disrupt my reading time.

I dog-ear the page of my book, stuffing it into my pants, wishing I had somewhere else to hide it. But I’m afraid that if I leave it in this room, it’ll disappear. Johansson has never searched me or anything, so chances are he won’t find it.

Sure enough, he opens the door and Claude comes in first, fastening cuffs around only my wrists, which means they’re just taking me up the hall to the exam room.

Great. I brace myself while they drag me away, wondering what kind of bullshit they have planned for tonight. More mind-altering psychedelics, electrodes, or pain sensitivity—when they hook me up to machines and poke me with needles on various parts of my body. That one was fun…

Inside the exam room, Claude removes my shirt and my pulse speeds up in fear they’ll find my book. But they don’t see it as I’m seated in the exam chair and strapped to it. As usual, Johansson, Figueroa, and Templeton begin hooking me up to things, sticking the electrodes to my temples, then to my chest, I’m guessing to monitor my brain and heart activity.

I yawn, because I’m tired. This is interrupting my sleep. Actually, I would have already fallen asleep, but that book is pretty entertaining.

“Ah, Doctor,” Johansson says, and my eyes fling to the door to find Dr. Love standing at the entrance to the room. “I’m so glad you could join us.”

I feel my heart rate increasing as he walks into the room, and it’s embarrassing because the beeping on the monitor speeds up considerably. My cheeks burn as he looks me over, saying nothing, simply standing off to the side.

Johansson begins his usual blathering. “This is Dr. Jarvis Johansson, Dr. Kenneth Templeton, and Abel Figueroa…” His eyes dart to Dr. Love, who shakes his head subtly. “Examining patient Felix Harmon Darcey. Today’s experiment is visual stimulation.”

Visual…?

It’s then that I notice the white screen for the slide projector across the room is lit up. It’s the same one they used to show me those fucked up videos the other day… Maybe that’s what they’re going to do again?

Templeton moves over to the projector and fiddles with it. I’m curious about what they plan on doing… And I wouldn’t admit it, but this whole thing makes me nervous, more so because of the presence of a certain drop-dead gorgeous doctor…

Templeton presses a button. Something clicks onto the screen. It’s a picture of my mother.

My brows furrow instantly. What the hell…?

He leaves it up for a few generous seconds before clicking again, onto a picture of my father. Then one of my parents together.

“What is this…” I mumble, confused by what’s supposed to be happening. What are they expecting me to do?

Of course, no one answers me. Click. Next up is a picture of a dead cat. The thing has been sliced open at the stomach, and its guts are hanging out.

My pulse picks up as I bite the inside of my cheek, eyes darting to Dr. Love. He’s just standing there with his arms crossed, watching me closely. Emotionless face stone still.

Click. The next picture is of Isaac, and my heart races. Okay, what the hell?

I jerk against the restraints. “What’s the point of this?”

Click. No… It’s a picture of Emmanuel. My stomach drops and I whimper. Baby…

Only a few seconds and it’s replaced by a picture of Emmanuel after they found him.

My chin drops and wobbles. He still looks so sad…

This one stays up for a hot minute. They aren’t prying my eyes open like last time, but still, I can’t close them or look away. That’s him, right there.

My first victim. And one of the great loves of my life. I think.

“He wasn’t supposed to be sad…” I mumble, shaking my head because I just want to get out of these goddamn restraints. “Put him back.”

The next picture is of Eric Miller. Number six.

My heart is bounding, the beeps climbing steadily, echoing off the walls as Eric’s alive picture is replaced by the picture of how he was found.

I bite my lip. His face is barely recognizable.

My mind flashes through images like its own slide projector… Eric beneath me. The feeling of his body around mine… The widening of his eyes as I strangled him to death with my bare hands…

My twitching becomes frantic as I jerk against the restraints. Glancing up at Dr. Love again, I find he’s still just observing. Staring at me, absorbed. Because he isn’t afraid of me. He doesn’t fear The Carver. He’s not watching me like I’m despicable, a monster locked up in chains.

He thinks I’m interesting…

Click. A picture of Tom Kline is in front of me, and a bubble of laughter erupts from my throat. Then Travis John. I’m giggling uncontrollably.

All of them, so different, each with their own stories to tell, even now that they’re gone. Especially now.

Leon, Kris, Harrison…

Blood splashes and rushes and drips. My blade slices through flesh, my muscles strain, and my teeth grind.

Oskar, Glenn, Rudy.

I’m in the bathtub, holding them. My ears are ringing. The electric carving knife whirrs and blood spatters across my face while Blue Monday pumps in the background.

My cackles toll through the room, stomach aching from the rampant giggles.

“Stop, stop.” I sigh, thrashing in the chair while tremors of raucous howls sweep me up.

I’m laughing so hard my eyes are watering and I can’t see anything. For all I know, they could be showing me more of my victims, but I wouldn’t know.

I can barely breathe.

When I finally compose myself, I spot Templeton and Figueroa scribbling frantic notes on their clipboards. Johansson is gaping at me in a way I’ve never seen before while I rush out a tired breath of remaining chuckles.

Powering down the projector, they all sort of mull about, and the only one who isn’t doing anything is Dr. Love. He’s still just gawking at me, and the way he’s doing so works to effectively cut off my giggle fit. His eyes are intense, severely contemplative, as if he’s wishing he could slice me open, to poke around at my insides.

I chomp down on my lower lip.

Figueroa removes the electrodes from my head, then my chest. And it occurs to me when his rubber-gloved fingers brush my skin that I’m shirtless. My eyes hold on to Dr. Love’s as chills sheet my flesh. I can feel how hard my nipples are, all bunched up and sensitive to the cool air of the room. I shift my hips, confused by the sensation in my gut, the strange thrumming in my balls with his eyes on me.

A clunk on the floor pulls his gaze from mine. He looks at something down there, then back up at me. His eyebrow arches.

Claude removes my straps, unbuckling me from the chair. But before he can do anything else, Dr. Love says, “That’s enough. I’ll take it from here.”

There’s silence in the room. Everyone has stopped moving, like they were put on pause.

“Uh, that’s fine, Doctor,” Johansson says hesitantly. “We’re used to getting him—”

“What you’re used to is irrelevant,” Dr. Love cuts him off, his eyes still on mine. “Leave us.”

It takes them a moment. They’re all seemingly shocked at his ordering them around, obvious from the stunned looks on their faces and the tense air suddenly suffocating the room. But they do what he says, puttering out in a somber single-file line, leaving me alone and shirtless with Dr. Love.

I decide to stand up slowly and stretch out my arms, all the while feeling his gaze on me like a heat lamp.

“How do you feel?” He speaks quietly, and I spin to face him.

“Hungry,” I mumble the first word that comes to my mind. It’s true, though. I was already pretty hungry before, but that little experiment has left me famished.

Dr. Love cocks his head, and it almost makes me smile. He seems to do that a lot. And paired with the scrutinizing glimmer in his eyes, it makes him look less like an intrigued doctor and more like a curious animal.

“What about what just happened has made you hungry?” he asks, reaching for my shirt on the counter, eyes never leaving mine.

Thrown off by his question, my brows zip. “I’m not sure it has anything to do with that. I’m just… hungry.”

I’m a bit wound as he hands me my shirt and I slip it over my head, adjusting my glasses. Dr. Love stares at me for a few more seconds before bending down. My chin drops to watch him as he picks something up off the floor near the base of the chair.

And maybe I’m imagining it, but it looks like he pauses to peek up at me from down there.

Something throbs inside me.

I swallow hard while he stands up, in slow motion. That’s how it looks to me, anyway. And then he’s standing right in front of me, close. So close that I can smell him some more… My breath lodges in my throat.

He hands something to me, and I hesitantly look down at it.

It’s my book. I gape up at him. It must have fallen out of my pants.

Slowly, I reach out and take the book from him. Our fingers brush. More throbbing. Then some shivering. All on my end, I’m sure.

“Follow me,” he instructs, while I let out a secretly shaky breath. He sounds like a robot… Like the Terminator.

Come with me if you want to live.

He wanders to the exam room door and opens it, stepping out into the hallway. I can’t even help how I pause hesitantly at the doorway. He looks back at me with a brow raised expectantly.

“I… I’m not cuffed,” I stammer. Like a total moron, because why would I ever remind someone to handcuff me?!

Dr. Love tilts his head, and I swear, I see I flash of amusement on his face, before he turns and keeps walking up the corridor. And I scamper after him, gripping my book tight.

He walks me to the next row, then opens my padded cell, gesturing for me to step inside, which I do. He stands there for a moment, just staring at me, before he says, “I’ll send some food down.”

Then he locks the door and leaves.

And I fall into the padding on the wall, letting out the longest sigh of my life.

No dreams.

My eyes are closed, but I’m not sleeping. I’m unable to fall asleep tonight.

The lack of dreaming makes sleep feel forced, I think. After all, what is sleep if not an escape?

Behind my eyelids, I can see them…

People from my past. The ones I usually dreamt about, before I got here. But they’re just images, flickering memories skittering through my mind like a broken projector. I’m not being swept away by my subconscious, like I want to be.

No more dreams…

Maybe I’ve lost the ability to dream. Maybe being trapped inside this concrete hellhole blocks out the receptors needed to whisk me away to dreamland.

Maybe that’s my ultimate punishment.

I’ve always been a dreamer, since I was little. I would get lost in my thoughts, sometimes spending hours just staring, thinking about the what ifs of life. Concocting scenarios.

Some would skirt along the realm of normalcy. My parents bringing us to an amusement park, for example. They never did it before, and I would dream that one day they would wake up Zachary and me early in the morning and say, Surprise! We’re going to Great Adventure!

Pretty regular, I suppose.

Others were much more… fantastical, like finding strange creatures in the woods. Ogres and werewolves and witches with long, sharp fingers. I dreamt about abandoned cabins and haunted mansions, all of which became my playgrounds.

The thing I remember most, though, was that I was never scared. In fact, I loved the scary stuff. Even as a young child, I would read the scariest books I could find, hoping for a little jolt of fear to pump up the beating in my chest. But it wasn’t there.

I was never afraid of the things every other child feared. I was afraid of something much more real…

My eyes reopen slowly, and I stare up at the ceiling. Stretching my arms up over my head, I revel in the freedom of movement, without that damn straitjacket. It’s pretty thrilling that this is now the second night in a row they’ve tossed me in here without it. But I won’t hold my breath for it to become a regular thing.

Still, I’ve been able to read my book thanks to it. Tilting my chin, I look at the book resting on my stomach. I’ve been sort of cuddling it since I stopped reading earlier. It’s an intriguing book, for sure. The author is smart as hell, and I’m interested in the things he’s talking about, though they’re slightly worrying to consider.

I’m only a hundred-or-so pages in, but so far, it’s about the different types of human experimentation that have occurred in the name of behavioral psychology over the years. It begins with talking about how mental health was researched and diagnosed decades ago…

In asylums.

Glancing around the padded room, I scoff to myself. If the public only knew that places like this still exist. And I’m sure this isn’t the only one left.

At the sound of something loud banging up the hall, I jump myself lucid, sitting up, dazed and a bit groggy. I’m scrubbing a hand over my face and my eyes beneath my glasses as one of the guards I know pretty well, Peters, stomps up to my cell door.

“Against the wall, inmate,” he grunts, and I stand slowly, doing as he says, but not without first grabbing my book and stuffing it into the back of my pants again.

Peters gives me a peculiar look as he opens the door and steps inside. I’m guessing it’s because I’m not wearing a straitjacket, but he doesn’t say anything. He simply cuffs my wrists, then shackles my ankles, bringing me out into the hall to begin our trek to the showers.

Peters is a quiet one. He’s really good-looking too, shorter than most of the other guards, but clearly ripped the hell up, obvious even with the uniform in the way. Smooth, dark complexion, shaved head, no facial hair. Kind eyes, and this almost sweetness to him. He reminds me of Leon… Number twenty.

I shake myself out of my thoughts while we enter the showers, feeling pensive as Peters watches me taking a piss, washing my face, and brushing my teeth. And when I’m done, without a single word, he cuffs me back up and drags me out into the long corridor, in the direction of Dr. Love’s office.

My stomach coils up in preparation for being on display, even more than during my morning routine. Dr. Love and his penetrating gaze, here to scrutinize the animal.

Peters knocks on the door to his office and, unlike Joy, waits for the doctor to say come in before opening it. He shoves me inside, removing everything while I place the doctor, who’s sitting at his desk with his nose buried in that same damn file.

Peters turns to leave. “Be back in forty—”

“One hour,” Dr. Love’s voice cuts him off.

I glance at Peters, whose gaze narrows at the doctor before he stomps out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Hm… Not really making friends with the guards, are we, Doc?

The room is eerily quiet, as usual, while I peer at the desk where Dr. Love is seated, ignoring me. It seems to be his thing, and I’m left wondering if disregarding his patients is a tactic. Maybe it makes us drop our guard?

I waver in place for a moment, casually looking around the room. It reminds me of a school principal’s office more than a therapist’s office. And of course that’s because of where we are. I’m sure if Dr. Love has an office somewhere else, it’s much fancier.

My gaze returns to him and I jump, because this time he’s staring at me. He closes the file slowly, folding his hands on his desk while our eyes remain locked. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who loves eye contact as much as this man. He never looks away. Like someone who takes staring contests way too seriously.

I break first, glancing at my shoes to get my bearings. If this is going to be another silent appointment, I might just go insane.

When my eyes slide back up to him, he gestures across the room to the couch. “Have a seat, Felix. Make yourself comfortable.”

I think that’s the most he’s said to me consecutively.

Wasting no time, I wander over to the couch and plop down on it. It’s one of those old velvet ones that looks like it’s from the seventies, a sort of deep maroon. My fingers run along the fabric as I nestle in, keeping my peripheral on Dr. Love while he stands, slowly, then waltzes over, taking a seat in the leather chair across from me.

The book in my pants is digging into my back, so I pull it out and place it on the couch beside me. Dr. Love peeks at it, then at me. Then the book. Then me. I can do nothing more than swallow, because it’s bizarre. Such deliberate movements of his eyes. Back, forth, back, forth. Like he’s being controlled by someone with a joystick.

I have this sudden impending need to fill the silence, so I murmur about the book, “I didn’t want to leave it in my cell. I’m afraid someone’s going to take it.”

Dr. Love nods. A very brief, uninterested motion. Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black cell phone.

“I’ll be recording these sessions.” His words are just that. Words.

He’s not asking me if it’s okay, I’m guessing because he doesn’t need to. And he’s not expressing any sort of feelings about what he’s saying. He’s just… speaking.

It’s really interesting. I’ve never met someone so… Robotic.

He taps on the phone screen, placing it down on the coffee table. My eyes follow his hands where they fold on his lap.

“This is Dr. Lemuel Love, recording session one with Felix Darcey,” he begins, stating the date and time while I watch his lips move. “Felix.”

The sound of my name in his rumbly voice snaps me out of it and I flinch. “Hm?”

“Will you please state your full name and age,” he says, a demand rather than the question it’s supposed to be.

“Uh sure.” I gulp. “Felix Harmon Darcey. Age twenty-three.”

“Do you understand where you are, Felix?” he asks, his face impervious.

I nod slowly. “Yes.” I don’t continue, so he lifts his brows. “I’m in Alabaster Penitentiary. In the East Wing.”

Dr. Love nods, accepting my answer, though I can’t help the look I’m giving him. Did he think I was so crazy I might not know where I am?

But then his words sink in… He asked me if I understand where I am.

“I was arrested at first for attempted kidnapping and attempted murder.” I keep going, and Dr. Love appears intrigued. “But they’d been building a case against me… They had thirty suspected murder victims, at least twenty-five bodies, plus a bunch of suspicious disappearances. And from what I heard while I was being passed around, Governor Russo didn’t want to take a chance on the insanity plea I was obviously going to try for. So they made it seem like I was killed during the arrest, and sent me here.”

Dr. Love glares at me for a moment, eyes narrowed, as if he’s impressed by my words and it irritates him.

I sit back on the couch. “Didn’t expect that kind of self-awareness, did you, Doc?”

He’s silent for a full thirty seconds before he says, “We’ll get to your arrest. For now, I’d like to start with your upbringing.”

“Ask away.” I fold my hands on my lap to mirror his. “I’m an open book.” He moves his hands to rest on his thighs, so I do the same.

He crosses his arms over his chest. “What is your earliest childhood memory?”

My head drops back and I look at the ceiling while I think. “Hmm… earliest childhood… memory… Oo! I know. My father brought home a microscope and let me look through it.”

“How old were you?”

“Let’s see, it was before Zach was born, so I must have been like three.”

His head lilts to the side. “You enjoyed that time, didn’t you? Interacting with your father.”

Something about the way he’s speaking makes me shift. “Yes…”

“You looked up to him…” Again, it’s not a question. He’s not asking me, because he feels like he already knows, and it’s bothering me.

“Yea,” I mumble. “I looked up to my father. So what? A lot of kids do.”

He blinks at me. “Is it important to you that your childhood was typical?”

“What the hell does that even mean?” I growl, then shake my head. Wow, can we go back to the silent sessions, please? This guy is irritating me already.

“It doesn’t mean anything, Felix.” He speaks smoothly. Superior. “It’s just a question.”

“Okay, okay, we get it.” I roll my eyes. “You’re a genius shrink who can sniff out all my issues just from reading through my file.” I lean forward. “If I’m so easy to pin down, then why even ask me questions about my childhood?”

He’s quiet for a moment, staring at me with those inquisitive eyes. I can’t help how my frustration retreats inside me and I slouch.

“Felix, let’s get this right out of the way,” Dr. Love says calmly. “I’m here to study you, to pick you apart in ways you’ve never experienced before. My job is to cut you open and pull out every little morsel that makes you special, then deliver it to Manuel Blanco. Metaphorically, of course.”

His lips move in the slightest hint of a smirk. Blink and you’d miss it. But still, it was a mesmerizing thing to witness.

“I want to make sure we’re on the same page here,” he goes on. “This isn’t therapy. We won’t be discussing your feelings and the instances that have led you to become the man you are in order to fix you. You cannot be fixed.” He pauses while his words swirl around in the air like a puff of smoke. “We are going to learn from you, Felix Darcey. Take pride in that, because it’s all you have left to offer.”

I’m weighted to the couch, just staring at him with my mouth agape.

No one has ever said anything like that to me before. It’s offensive, and kind of dehumanizing. But at the same time, I can’t help the ease that’s washing over me.

You cannot be fixed.

“You think I was… born this way?” I ask him, my voice coming out quietly engrossed.

His gaze grips mine tight. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s the only thing that makes sense,” I whisper.

Dr. Love’s eyes squeeze mine hard for a moment more before he shifts in his seat and says, “Let’s expand on that.”

“’Kay,” I breathe, fully hypnotized by this man. I have no idea how he’s managed to do it so fast…

Is it because he so clearly isn’t afraid of me? Is it because he’s one of the few people who doesn’t think something went wrong in my life to make me this way? Is it because, despite how goddamn cliché it sounds, he reminds me of my father?

Or is it a combination of all of it?

“Tell me how you felt as a child,” he commands, a gentle one. It seems like this is as close to asking as he gets.

I recline on the couch. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve been invisible…”

The funny thing about silence is that sometimes it’s louder than noise.

I used to love silence… The quiet surrounding me; enveloping me like a cocoon of tranquility. No voices, no questions. No forced pleasantries or empty words. Just nothing.

But then, when I was fourteen, something happened in the quiet. And after that, the silence became deafening. The lack of necessary rage, emotional reactions, screams and shouts of anger only disrupted me further. The quiet I used to relish was mocking me.

They have nothing to say. No one cares.

It doesn’t matter.

You don’t matter.

I suppose I still enjoy silence in a sense. I enjoy being the one to control the noise, blasting music when I’m in the car, when I’m working out. The loudness fills my ears, working into my brain to distract me from my endless thoughts.

Using the silence to my advantage has become my way of honing it. Maintaining that control I need to survive. The control that saved my life…

During my first meeting with my new patient, I explored that concept. I didn’t speak a word to him and let the quiet guide his behavior. It’s a method I’ve employed with Trevel in the past, and it works like a charm. People tend to reveal personality traits they may have been inclined to keep hidden when they’re bending to social convention. And let’s face it, the need to fill tense silences is a big one.

That’s the first thing that impressed me about Felix Darcey. He doesn’t seem to mind silence, whether it’s comfortable or not. He stood in my presence, and we just existed together, in the same shared space. It was fascinating.

I kept the wordless session going for our next meeting, and it was working well enough. Until he began asking me about the bookshelf in my office.

A small frisson rushes through me at the memory of him selecting my book. I wonder if he’s been reading it… I wonder what someone like him would make of a book like that.

Letting out a content sigh, I stand and bring my empty plate to the sink. I just finished eating dinner alone at the kitchen table. There are all varieties of prepared foods here, cooked fresh and even marked with sell-by dates in the refrigerator. I just enjoyed a pork stir-fry which was actually very good, though it doesn’t surprise me that the food is delicious, being that Manuel Blanco’s personal chef is the one who cooks for the entire mansion. A very different state of affairs from the slop they ship over to feed the inmates at the prison.

Glancing around the dimly lit room, I peer out into the even more baleful atmosphere of the hallway. As creepy as my temporary home is, I must say, I’m enjoying my stay here so far. Sure, it’s only been three days, but still… I find this entire island enchanting, in a dreary sort of way.

My first day on Alabaster Isle, I was given a tour of this place, which they call the Ivory Mansion, and from what I’ve gathered, there are two reasons for the name. One, it’s owned by Manuel Blanco, who’s also known as The Ivory. And two, it’s made almost entirely of what looks to be white marble, or some kind of pale granite. The entire exterior of the mansion is white, fitting in with the whole alabaster theme. Ivory white encompasses us in what is by far the most lavish and peculiar house I’ve ever seen.

House isn’t even correct, because this place is a mansion in every sense of the word. It’s almost the same size as the prison, and with only about a mile of space between the two, going from one to the other is like entering a completely different world.

Where Alabaster Penitentiary is a crumbling mess of concrete, rust, and black mold, echoing the tortured shouts and barks of dangerous sociopaths, the Ivory Mansion is an elaborate, opulent castle. Oddly decorated interior, though it certainly fits the bleak vibe of the island, reverberating only the sounds of the ocean and the raging parties that occur in the guards’ quarters.

While on my tour, I was informed that The Ivory’s home is divided into two sections, quite literally split down the middle, though there’s no red line or anything. On the one side, all the guards reside. And apparently, they don’t just come home to eat, shower, and sleep. Manuel Blanco’s guy, Kent—whom I actually like because he barely speaks—told me that the correctional officers throw pretty wild parties over there. And while he urged me to stick to our side, he did let me know, subtly of course, that if I ever need anything, all I have to do is ask.

I read between the lines. He was obviously referring to things like drugs or women, or both. So as it would seem, the remoteness of this island doesn’t stop people from coming over. Either way, I have no intention of crossing the line. I’m not one for parties. Never have been.

Even in college, I would stop by just to show face, then leave. I don’t mind going out on rare occasion, but I’ve always preferred to spend my time researching. Reading, watching documentaries, listening to podcasts. Learning is my primary hobby. Outside of that, I like to work out, play basketball, go hiking. All things you can do by yourself. Okay, maybe basketball is more entertaining with people, but still. It doesn’t need to be made into an event. You can just show up at the court, ball for a few, then leave.

The picture I’m painting of myself is one of a loner, and it’s accurate. I’ve never really been a people person. The only time I enjoy being around people is when I’m studying them.

As I’m wandering through the downstairs foyer, Felix Darcey pops into my head. It’s strange to consider, but after our few brief meetings, and reading his file so much I almost have the thing memorized, I feel like I know him quite well already. Of course, there’s infinitely more to learn, crumbs I could never sniff out just from reading his file and talking to him once. But his mannerisms, his reactions to varying factors… They’re painting me a picture. And it’s just the beginning of what I think could become an elaborate masterpiece.

Downstairs in the mansion is dark, illuminated only by the glow of torch lights as I walk around, observing my surroundings. There are so many rooms here, it’s like a maze. It would take me months to explore them all.

Gliding leisurely into a library, I wind myself around all the many shelves, checking out Blanco’s collection. Many of the books are first editions and rare book collections, kept in pristine condition. Not a speck of dust to be found.

Kent told me that the rest of the staff, including the East Wing doctors, live on the property, in a small house just outside the rear of the mansion. Like old school maid’s quarters. Deciding to go check it out, I make my way to the nearest backdoor, which leads out onto a veranda. As soon as I step outside, my feet come to a halt.

It’s gorgeous out here…

There’s an entire patio made of elaborate stonework. Plants everywhere, like I’m inside a greenhouse or a botanical garden. Twinkly lights strung up overhead, a setup of chairs and even a barbecue enclosure. This looks like the best place to hang out when the weather is nice. It dawns on me that we’re in the middle of the ocean when I hear nearby crashing waves and feel the sea breeze caressing on my exposed flesh. Smell the salt in the air…

It’s bizarre to be standing next to a giant marble castle, surrounded by plants and exotic flowers, while the knowledge that I’m on a rock miles away from civilization sits in the back of my mind.

Everything about this island is an enigma.

As I wander the pathway through all the vegetation, spotting the house of the staff on my right, I can understand the guards’ need to let loose. I’ve only been here for three days, but I already sense that time moves differently on this island. Being cut off from the rest of the world is something that changes the way you think and feel about your existence, bringing with it a certain level of narcissism. Things like repercussions might fade into the background as you question what it all means.

Lost in my thoughts, I realize I’ve strayed from the mansion when I look up to see the overwhelming outline of Alabaster Penitentiary just through the trees. Pausing my steps, I stare at it, wondering what Felix is doing right now. And an unprecedented teeny tiny voice in the back of my mind urges me to keep walking.

To go into the prison, to the East Wing, to his cell. To watch him again, just to see what he does. Like the other night, when I peeked through that tiny window and observed him. Like an animal in the zoo. On display, for me.

It gives me that feeling again… The one deep in my gut, like a strange little tickle. Excitement.

I’d almost forgotten what this felt like. To be enraptured by something, seduced by it. So engrossed that all I want in the world is to sit beside it for hours and watch it behave.

Felix Darcey is exactly that. A dangerous animal behind bars. And I can’t help wanting to step inside his cage.

It’s why I told Officer Chevelle to instruct his men to leave Felix with me uncuffed and unshackled. No straitjacket, no laces. In my presence, I want him free to do whatever his twisted little mind wants to do. After all, the only way I’ll be able to truly get inside his head is to take him off the leash. If he bites someone, so be it.

I can protect myself against dangerous humans. Of that, I’m fully confident.

I pluck at the fabric of my tailored dress pants for a moment, surveying the prison until I decide to turn around and go back. I’ll see Felix tomorrow morning for our next session. No need to go and bother him tonight.

Strolling back inside the mansion, I weave through the maze of rooms, making my way to the stairs. My mind is swirling with questions for Felix as I ascend the marble staircase to the second floor, where my room is located. It’s interesting to me that The Ivory has all this space for essentially just himself, though I see him as a man who values his privacy.

Once inside my bedroom, I begin undressing for bed. I change into a white tee and gray sweatpants, considering for a moment if I’d like to go work out. I’m not tired in the slightest. In fact, my adrenaline has been buzzing like crazy since I got here. I’m lucky if I’m able to catch four hours at night. But even so, I manage to wake up refreshed and ready to go.

I wonder why…

Picking up my work phone from the desk, I open the recorder app and slide back to the beginning of the file, then press play, listening to Felix Darcey talking to me about his childhood. His voice is different from what I’d expected, although I’m not sure why. Maybe I didn’t expect him to sound so… melodious. Is that the right word?

Through the recorder, his voice is telling me about how he was always overshadowed as a child. By his mother and her mental health issues, by his father’s career. And then by his younger brother. Felix always felt invisible. But the way he talks about it isn’t regretful or whiny. He has this air of self-acceptance about him.

Felix is a complex man. He is very aware, and it’s an interesting facet of his personality, because he also has obvious and severe insecurities. But it almost seems like he’s fine with them. Like he knows that he’s fucked up and he just sort of rolls with it. Very different from many other prolific serial killers like him.

He also takes full responsibility for what he’s done, which makes him the perfect specimen to examine. He doesn’t hide behind an illness that he so clearly has—from just our limited interactions so far, I’d say manic depressive, and antisocial personality disorder. He knows there’s something that makes him different from most other people, and he welcomes it.

I listen to Felix talking about his childhood fascination with dead bodies. Mostly animals, though he admits he paid extra attention to anatomy lessons in school. He says that he was never sure what he wanted to be, but he liked the idea of studying the human mind. It gives me a warm sensation in my gut, something like pride, because that’s what I do, and yes, it is fascinating. And then he mentions that he also kind of wanted to be a mortician, which doesn’t surprise me. Though his reasoning isn’t what you’d expect.

“I liked the idea of preserving them… The bodies,” his voice croons over my recorder while I sit down on my bed. “I wanted to make them up. Change their expressions based on their personalities.”

“Is that why you carved your victims?” My voice comes in. I recline slowly on my bed, lying down on my back.

“People hide so much in their faces,” he answers me. I remember him nodding at my question. “Smile when really, they’re sad… Frown when really, they have so much to be happy about…”

His voice trails as I stare up at the ceiling.

Thinking about what’s hidden beneath his surface.

I’m already seated in the leather chair when the knock comes to my office door.

“Come in.” I fidget with some of my handwritten notes as one of the guards brings Felix into the room, the sounds of his chains clanking about.

The guard removes his cuffs and shackles and leaves without a word, which is good. This means they’re getting used to what I need from them, which is to blindly follow my orders. I don’t want to think that I’m drunk with power or anything, but I came here under the guise that the Warden was giving me full control of Mr. Darcey and how I choose to examine him.

Officer Chevelle and his team weren’t thrilled with it at first, because Velle, as they apparently call him, thrives on control. But his reins needed to be loosened for me to do the job I was hired to do.

Felix squirms in place for a moment before wandering over and taking a seat on the strange velvet couch across from my chair. He wiggles once more, and I give him a peculiar look as he pulls my book out of the back of his pants. He told me last time that he’s afraid to leave it in his cell, lest it go missing. And I would never admit it to anyone, but the satisfaction I felt from knowing he so greatly values my work was unlike anything I’ve felt before.

Obviously I don’t care what a sociopathic murderer thinks. I suppose it’s just exciting to know that my book is making an impression. With The Ivory and now The Carver. Though Felix doesn’t know that I wrote the book…

I wonder what he would think if he knew…

“You can leave the book in your cell, Felix,” I tell him, and his eyes snap up to mine behind his black frames. “I’ll make sure no one takes it.”

“That’s a nice thought, Doc, but these people around here are…” He lets out a little scoff before saying, “Assholes.”

My head tilts to the side while I watch him. His irises are a slate gray, vibrant in such a typically muted color. And he clearly has no problem with eye contact. He’s the only person I’ve ever met who lets his gaze stick with mine for minutes on end. Though he usually breaks first.

“I promise,” I state firmly.

He blinks at me a few times in silence. Then he nods, seemingly accepting my assurance.

Good.

Picking up my phone, I press record and introduce myself with the date and time, placing it down on the table. Folding my hands in my lap, I watch Felix for a moment, taking in his appearance. He doesn’t look as exhausted as he did the first time I saw him, and I think it’s because they’ve dialed back on the experiments they were doing to make time for our sessions. Still, there are subtle dark circles beneath his eyes, and his chestnut brown hair is tousled about. He’s clean shaven, no hint of stubble lingering on the line of his sharp jaw.

Felix’s file has told me everything about his stay here in Alabaster Pen, including how often his face is shaved, when he’s allowed showers, where his things are kept. I even have the prescription information for his glasses, and the brand name of the frames he likes. Those thick black ones that make him look like Buddy Holly.

I remember the first time I saw a picture of him in the papers. I don’t smile a lot… Okay, it actually never happens. I just haven’t found many things to smile or laugh at, because life isn’t funny. But I swear to God, when I saw the picture of the twenty-year-old who was responsible for all of those gruesome murders, I couldn’t help the grin that stretched uncontrollably on my lips, accompanied by a tiny chuckle.

He looks nothing like what you’d expect from a brutal murderer, which just goes to show, you never know who could be chopping up bodies. There’s a reason they say looks are deceiving, and Felix Darcey’s looks are the ultimate camouflage.

Yesterday, as he told me about how he’s felt invisible all his life, I couldn’t help but feel as though his looks have helped him fly under the radar. I mean, come on… He’s a white guy of ordinary height and weight. Brown hair. No distinguishing marks, tattoos, or piercings. Add his often introverted, shy and awkward personality to the mix and it’s no wonder he’s been overlooked all his life.

But even more than that, over the course of my first couple of meetings with Felix, I remember thinking that his quietness was likely what kept him in the shadows, more than his physical appearance. Because he is a very good-looking man. Objectively.

His features are symmetrical, complexion smooth, curious eyes of a sort of brilliant shade not necessarily hidden behind those glasses, but more framed by them. Pointed nose, sloped, full lips, all angles and exceptional curves. From what I can tell, he’s in great shape beneath the oversized shirt and washed-out prison jumpsuit pants.

I think it’s clear. Felix Darcey isn’t homely or simple. He’s only able to act that way to get what he wants.

When he begins to shift in his seat, I realize that the silence is getting to him. Felix is very introspective. He’s not a chatterbox by any means. But I’ve also found that he has a certain level of expectancy from me. I’m guessing he was informed or somehow found out I was coming to work with him, and now it’s as if he’s eager for it.

The feeling is mutual.

“Felix,” I begin, settling into my chair. “I want you to tell me about your first kill.”

His eyes round, but he does a great job of covering up what was clearly a knee-jerk emotional response. It’s exactly the thread I want to pull at after witnessing his reactions to the photos of his victims the other day, in the exam room. He seemed to have different feelings about all of them. Which fucking fascinates me.

“Okay,” he says softly, his fingers digging into the velvet couch beneath him. “What do you want to know about it?”

“Tell me his name.” I speak quietly, though it’s an indignant command.

Felix narrows his slate gaze at me. “You know his name.” My shoulder lifts in a careless shrug, to which he sighs out a frustrated breath. “Emmanuel Pedroia. He was my first.”

I nod. “Was he the first person you wanted to kill?”

“No.” He shakes his head, then swallows visibly. “I’m sure I wanted to kill people before him. But the first person I remember actively wanting to strangle to death was Isaac.”

“Isaac Remillard?” I ask, recalling the notes from his file. “Your college roommate?”

He nods. “Yea. He was my…” He stops abruptly and closes his eyes, shaking his head briefly. “I had a crush on him. And I know he wanted me back… But he wouldn’t admit it, like the stubborn bitch he is.”

“And that made you want to kill him?” I ask carefully.

He’s quiet for a moment. “No… I don’t think so. I mean, maybe? I think I wanted to kill him because I wanted to kill him. I’m not sure there’s a reason…”

“Felix.” I give him a pointed look. “There’s always a reason.”

His eyes widen at me, and an insecurity flashes in them. “But you said… I thought you said I was born this way.”

“Yes, I believe that.” My head bobs subtly. “But that doesn’t mean you’re going to just slaughter any old person for the hell of it. You chose each of your victims… Hand-picked them like a ripe piece of fruit you wanted to devour.”

He swallows again, this time a more deliberate movement. His Adam’s apple slides in his throat, and it reminds me of my own throat. I have to force my hand not to move up to the scars.

“What stopped you from killing Isaac?” I ask quickly, moving on.

“I was too young,” he hums nostalgically. “The feelings were still too new. And I’d just gotten away, on my own, you know?” His fingers tap on the couch. “It took a lot of alone time before I came to terms with it… And even then, I didn’t really want to kill Emmanuel.” He stops and his lips quirk. “At least, not at first.”

My stomach twists in mild excitement. This is news. I’d assumed he went into each kill with a desire for it. I’m already getting so much out of him, and it feels like sitting down at a casino table and winning your first hand.

“Let’s expand on that.” I speak firmly, stowing my eagerness. “What happened in your apartment on Amity Street that led to Emmanuel?”

He leans back in his seat, an air of confidence surrounding him all of a sudden. The way he’s looking at me right now is almost joyous. Like a jovial delight, not only to regale me with the tales of what he’s done, but also for the mere fact that I care. I think he clearly enjoys the attention, which isn’t a first for serial killers. But still, it’s exciting as hell to be present for.

“I started living there right at the end of freshman year, so I had my own place all summer before I needed to get back to school. That was when I learned firsthand about New York City’s gay scene.” He brings his hands up and presses his fingers into a teepee shape. “Of course, I was still figuring myself out, and I definitely wasn’t good at picking up guys. So mostly I just went to the clubs and watched people. I loved watching them interact. It was almost more fun that doing it myself.”

“How so?”

“When I watch people, I don’t have to worry about trying to be cool. Coming up with witty remarks, or worrying about being a bad kisser…”

“Do you think you’re a bad kisser?” I ask him out of nowhere, sort of startling myself with the question.

He tugs his lower lip between his teeth before answering. “At the time, I didn’t really know what I was doing. I’d only ever been with Bobby…”

“Who’s Bobby?” My voice comes out deep, even to my ears.

What’s wrong with me??

Felix shifts. “Bobby Bellows. My first boyfriend. I… lost my virginity to him.”

My chin dips in a brief nod. I hadn’t intended to ask him about his sexual history just yet, but I guess we’re falling into it.

He told me yesterday that he always felt different, and that mirrored his discovering of his sexuality. Like, when all the boys would talk about girls and he knew he had no interest in it.

“You didn’t want to kill Bobby?” I ask him, sincerely interested.

He scoffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “No.”

“Why not?” My brow lifts, curious about that reaction.

“Because I didn’t want to keep him.” He chuckles. “He was too much as it is.”

His words stick in my brain as my spine stiffens. Bingo. My first big, juicy morsel.

I’m so excited I’m feeling jittery.

“But you wanted to keep Isaac… And Emmanuel?” My gaze is intense, stuck on his, and I remind myself to dial it back. I feel like I’m foaming at the mouth right now. This is just so exhilarating. Like the first few sessions with Trevel.

I’m doing Mindhunter. I’m John Douglas!

Felix pauses in thought for a moment, staring at me before he says, “Yes.”

Reaching for my notepad on the table, I scribble down the word, possession.

“What did you write?” he asks, scooting forward on the couch.

I ignore him. “So you were alone in your apartment all summer.”

“Yea.” He’s still a bit stiff, but he humors me and gets back on track. “I went to the clubs and watched people hooking up all over the place. It was fun, but it was also frustrating. I really wanted to meet someone.”

“For sex?” I try drawing it out of him.

But he shakes his head. “For companionship. Sure, the sex was a part of it, but I wanted someone. I never had anyone…”

He speaks of people like possessions… It’s very interesting. I wonder if he always needs to be the possessor or if he also desires to be possessed.

“I tried it with a mannequin first,” he says, and I can’t help the way my lashes flutter in surprise and morbid fascination. “I found one they were throwing away outside Old Navy and brought it home. I practiced on him… Like, conversation and whatnot. I talked to him every day, and then one thing led to another…”

His eyes linger on his fingers where they twist on his lap, and I can’t help but notice the flush creeping up his neck. I’m reveling in it, because from what I can tell, he doesn’t feel shame or embarrassment much. At least not when talking about his victims. Maybe this is different… Because this is more about him than them.

“Did he have a name?” I ask, keeping my tone even.

He clears his throat. “I just called him Want. Because I wanted him to be a real person.” His forehead lines and he actually looks upset. Over a fucking mannequin. “But things didn’t work out, and that’s when I realized I needed to find a real person.”

“What brought you to that realization?” I’m on the edge of my goddamn seat right now.

His eyes flit up to mine. “Because he didn’t feel real. He had no warmth, no substance. No… flesh, no blood.”

“That was what you really wanted.” My voice comes out softer this time, a statement rather than a question. “A human…”

“Yea…”

“A victim,” I add, and I witness his jaw clench.

His gray eyes darken, and for the first time, I witness some of the anger he must possess in order to do what he does. It doesn’t need to be the driving factor, but it has to be in there. Loneliness, need, and craving are all well and good, but rage will pull the trigger.

Felix cracks his knuckles. One of those uncontrollable grins almost tugs on my mouth again, because I’m getting inside his head. And that’s exactly where I need to be.

I lean back in my chair, feeling all sorts of victorious. “Is that when you met Emmanuel?”

He nods slowly, remaining silent for a few seconds before he answers. “I went to the club and saw him.” His expression changes suddenly from frustrated to wistful. “He was gorgeous… Really just fucking beautiful. I watched him for a couple days and found out he didn’t have a place to live. He sort of bounced between friends’ places, which was perfect.”

“Because he didn’t have anyone who would miss him?” I ask, prodding. I don’t think that’s why he chose Emmanuel, but I want to be sure.

And unsurprisingly, Felix shakes his head. “No. No, it meant he could stay with me. It took me two weeks to finally work up the courage to talk to him. But when I did, we hit it off right away. He came back to my place, and we spent the whole weekend together… In bed.”

He stops as his gaze lingers on mine, almost expectantly. I’m not sure what reaction he’s searching for… Does he think I’ll be uncomfortable talking about gay sex with him? If so, he’s barking up the wrong tree. I can talk about all manners of things that might make other people uncomfortable. I don’t have that switch in my brain that triggers humiliation, especially second-hand.

Sex is just sex. It’s something pretty much everyone does; a part of life. And why would I be able to listen to him talk about murder but not sex? It makes no sense.

“How was it?” I ask him, getting my point across. “The sex?”

He makes a little noise, then clears his throat as my brows knit. “It was good…”

“Just good?” I keep pushing, containing that damn little smirk that keeps trying to pop up. What is it about talking to him that has it lingering in my facial muscles?

Felix is squirming, and it’s very entertaining. The guy hacks people up for a living, but he’s struggling to tell me about his sex life.

“It was what I expected,” he goes on. “I’ve never been a hugely sexual person, anyway. With Emmanuel, I was more concerned with having him. I mean, keeping him around.”

I let him off the hook about the sex stuff, though I make a note to bring it up again. And I ask, “But that didn’t happen, did it?”

He breathes out slowly, lowering his gaze. “No… No, it didn’t.”

Felix Harmon Darcey

Age: Eighteen

Location: Amity Street, Apartment 213

Brooklyn, NY

My first summer on Amity Street was like one long scene from Risky Business.

I spent my days working out, either doing push-ups and sit-ups in the apartment or jogging around Cobble Hill Park. I spent my nights in my boxers blasting eighties music, eating Chinese takeout. And, on occasion, watching people.

Cobble Hill was a great spot for watching. A lot of guys jogged around that area, and I used it as an opportunity to rediscover my childhood hobby.

Stalking.

It was easy for me. It always had been, because of my invisibleness and all. People just didn’t notice me slinking around, and it made the watching fun. Like a game I was always winning.

I had only recently started going to the clubs in Manhattan, and because I was quiet and shy, I was invisible there, too. Sure, I was approached by the occasional dude looking to dance, which was always a prelude to hooking up. But I was just so nervous around them, I’d usually end up leaving early and going home. Sometimes I would wait outside the club and follow guys, just to observe them, and see how they acted.

In my mind, it was harmless. I was just learning from them. Learning how to be out and proud, since I’d only just begun to accept myself as a gay man. I still hadn’t even told anyone that I was gay. At least not my family. People at school caught on after Bobby and I started dating, but still. I never got to have that moment… The one when you say it out loud, to someone. Anyone. When you’re finally able to speak the words, guess what, guys? I don’t care about boobs because I’m totally gay.

The thing was, that in my mind, it wasn’t necessarily an issue. I wasn’t even concerned with telling my family. I was more worried about learning how to be comfortable talking to men. Interacting with them. That was why I watched the guys from the clubs. It was like homework or extracurriculars. Studying and examining them. Figuring out not only how to be a gay man, but just how to be a human.

Because after a while, I began to realize that just about everyone was different from me. The ways I’d always behaved weren’t like everyone else. There was a void inside me. Something was missing… and I desperately wanted to find it.

That was when I met Emmanuel.

Met is not really the right word, since I spent the first two weeks after seeing him for the first time following him around in secret. He hung out at the clubs in Hell’s Kitchen that I was partial to, bouncing in between Industry and Therapy, Posh and a few others, almost every night. He had some friends who lived in the area. A few in Brooklyn. Once I even followed him all the way to Forest Hills.

After that, I realized I needed to talk to him. He was just so mesmerizing to a lonely loser like me. He was the life of the party, but not in an overly loud, obnoxious way, like Bobby. Emmanuel was charismatic, and down to earth. He was charming as hell, not to mention almost unreasonably gorgeous. He was tall—about my height, maybe an inch more—with a stunning bronze complexion. Dark hair kept shaved, like the stubble lining his perfect jawline. Full lips I just knew would feel like pillows to kiss. And his body was insane. He spent so much time in the gym; it was like his second home. Or maybe his first home, since he didn’t even technically have a home.

But the thing about Emmanuel that caught my attention, more than anything else, was his smile. Straight white teeth and dimples like canyons I just wanted to hop on a donkey and explore. It reminded me so much of Cameron. And as we now know, anyone who reminds me of Cameron steals my breath as fast as my heart.

It’s a weakness of mine, I know. My victims fall into two categories, and the ones who remind me of Cam are the important ones. The ones I’ll always cherish, no matter how they unfortunately ended up.

Cameron should’ve been mine, and because he left, I was stuck forever searching for someone to take his place.

The night that I actually met Emmanuel, I was pacing around my apartment, trying to conjure up the confidence to go up to him.

“What would someone like me even say to someone like him?” I asked Want, my mannequin friend. “He’s way out of my league…”

I imagined Want saying, Stop downgrading yourself, Felix. You’re a catch. You have a lot to offer.

I scoffed. “Yea right. I’m a basic bitch.” I kicked at some books on the floor, insecurities overwhelming me.

You’re not basic. You’re special. And one of these days, someone is going to come along who realizes that. Whether it’s this guy you’ve been watching, or someone else. But the point is that you need to get out there and just be yourself. It’ll all work out, I promise.

Pushing my glasses up my nose, I peeked at Want. It was sweet, the encouragement he was giving me. It made me wish so badly in that moment that he was real.

I stepped up to him slowly, placing my hand on his square jaw while the other rested on his firm chest. It was hard, much too hard to be human. And I hated it. I wanted the softness of skin beneath my fingers.

Still, I tugged Want’s face to mine and kissed him gently. It was frustrating, how unreal it felt. Too hard. No soft lip to pull between my teeth.

But the anger only worked me up further. I kissed him deeper, grinding myself against him, my left hand sliding down his chiseled frame, reaching for the erection that wasn’t there.

“Be real…” I growled, forcefully backing him up into the wall, my needy lips working on his.

I was praying for him to become real in that moment, like my own twisted version of Pinocchio. I wanted a real boy. But he just wouldn’t reciprocate.

“What’s wrong?” I whimpered over his plastic mouth, my erection pulsing between us. “You don’t want me?”

But he didn’t answer.

And after only a couple more minutes of me kissing and grinding on him, I gave up. I just couldn’t take it anymore. But the frustration of wanting that perfect person, of chasing someone who wasn’t even real, was what drove me to go out that night.

I got dressed in my favorite fitted jeans and t-shirt that looked casual, though they were expensive enough to impress the guys in Manhattan. And I went searching for Mr. Perfect.

I didn’t find him at the first two clubs, which were across the street from one another. But when I walked to Posh, a few blocks over, sure enough, there he was.

My gorgeous crush, standing by the bar. And wouldn’t you believe it…

He was alone.

It was a Thursday night in August, so there were plenty of people out, but it was still early. I stood by the entrance for a few minutes, taking deep breaths, waiting for my heart rate to even out. Until I heard Want’s voice again.

Go, Felix.

Go get him.

So I stepped over to the bar, trying my hardest not to look at him while I ordered a drink. I could feel him in my peripheral. And out of the corner of my eye, I saw him glance my way.

Even that had me flying high.

Picking up my vodka tonic, I sipped slowly, biting the inside of my cheek while I squirmed in place. Up close, I think it was clear that he was older than me. I was only eighteen. I wasn’t even old enough to go into bars, but thanks to a helpful fake ID and the fact that the door guys loved me, I could sneak by. But Emmanuel looked like he was twenty-five. Come to find out he was only twenty-three. But still… I liked it.

I liked the idea of an older guy being interested in me.

So with that thought bounding around my brain, I turned to face him. And he turned to face me.

And he smiled.

I was fucking gone.

“Hi,” he’d said, his voice slinking its way through my ears into my brain, melting over it like Velveeta. “I’m Emmanuel.”

“F-felix,” I stuttered, kicking myself for being such a loser. I bit my lip, and his eyes fell to my mouth. I swallowed down a gulp.

“You wanna dance?” he asked me, and he looked like he really wanted to. I couldn’t believe it.

He was actually talking to me. He wanted to dance… with me.

But then I remembered… “I’m a horrible dancer.” I was being fully serious, but Emmanuel laughed. It was like music to my ears.

“Tell you what, shy guy.” He picked up his drink and killed it. “How about we just get out of here?”

My entire body was fizzling like it was filled with Pop Rocks. I couldn’t believe it was happening. The guy I’d been obsessing over for weeks wanted to leave with me. And sure, there was a voice in my head that thought maybe he’s just using you for a place to stay, since he didn’t seem to have anywhere to go. But I didn’t care. I wanted him too badly.

I was obsessed, and I knew it would be my downfall. My heart, reaching out with grabby hands for another human being. It controlled everything.

And I thought, maybe he’ll fill that void inside me.

So I nodded, pulling some cash out of my pocket and tossing it down on the bar. My eyes, glued to Emmanuel’s perfect smile, managed to move up to his. And I found them to be hazel swirls of green and brown.

Just like Cam.

There was no turning back after that.

Emmanuel and I left together and got into a cab. We held hands in the backseat, our fingers subtly playing, brushing and teasing, working me up so strong that by the time we stepped out in front of my building, I was about to burst. I had to adjust my erection in my pants so it wasn’t completely visible as I walked him inside to my place.

“Wow…” He’d admired his surroundings, spinning in place as I locked up behind us. “You live here alone?” I nodded slowly, watching him with hungry heart eyes. “What do you do?”

“I’m still in school,” I mumbled. “I go to LIU. My parents pay for the place.”

He peeked at me over his shoulder while wandering around my apartment, checking things out. “You just became a million times hotter.”

Of course he meant because I had money. I know that now. But again, at the time, I didn’t care. My parents paid for everything, and I had a credit card with a five-thousand-dollar limit. If Emmanuel the Gorgeous wanted to stay with me and let me buy things for him, I was totally fine with it.

The need for love has always blinded me. I was willing to overlook a lot just to find that perfect someone. The other half of my person.

Emmanuel stepped up to Want and examined him. I held my breath, frantic thoughts ringing, Oh God, he’s gonna be freaked out. Why didn’t I stuff him into the closet or something??

But instead, he just smirked at me. “This is such a good idea! You can model your outfits before you try them on.”

I let out a secret breath of relief and chuckled. “Yea. He’s really helpful that way.”

His smile was still resting comfortably on his lips as he wandered over to me. And while I was trying not to embarrass myself, he kissed me.

He was definitely the more dominant one, and something about it felt so right. The way he held my face and kissed me until I was dizzy. The way he pushed us toward the couch, too impatient to try for the bedroom, falling on top of me and pinning me down.

“Felix,” he purred into my mouth, and I melted.

“Emmanuel…” My hips lifted to seek him out.

“You taste so sweet.” His hands were all over me, and I was burning alive.

I was so anxious for more of him, eager to find out if sipping him would finally quench that thirst inside me.

“I… I want you,” I rumbled in between him sucking on my lips, his tongue tangling with mine.

My eyes crept open, and I peeked across the room at Want the mannequin.

“Are you a top or a bottom?” Emmanuel asked, writhing his clothed erection against mine. “I’m a switch, so I’m good with whatever you wanna do.”

I didn’t really know what to say in that moment. The only other time I’d had sex, I was the top. So I figured that was what I was. Though a tiny frisson of excitement swam inside me at the idea of Emmanuel pushing me onto my stomach and spreading me open…

A little moan slipped out of me at the images in my head.

His hand slipped between our bodies, and he cupped my dick. “You’re nice and big. I’m happy to take this deep, baby.”

“Okay,” I sighed, giving in immediately. Despite my curiosities, I was going to stick with what I knew, since I was inexperienced as hell and didn’t want to humiliate myself.

So we began stripping, kissing and touching all the while. Emmanuel had condoms and lube, thank God, because I didn’t have any of those things. And when I sunk into him, we were face to face, our lips connected, our bodies joined. Our souls melting together.

I was in love.

We fucked for hours that night, so many times I lost count, still kissing when the sun came up. I made him breakfast, we took a shower together, and he taught me how to make him come with my mouth.

We didn’t leave my apartment for two full days, and even when we did, it was just to take a walk for pizza. That entire weekend was the best time of my life. Emmanuel had stolen my heart in record time, and with every moment we shared, a fantasy was building in my mind.

A vision of us, and a life together.

I was going to ask Emmanuel to move in with me permanently.

He had a job as a waiter at a cafe in SoHo, but he barely made enough money to feed himself, which was why he spent so much time in the bars. He was sort of like an unofficial sex worker, hooking up with guys for a place to stay, for food and drinks and whatever he could get. And I hated the idea of him feeling like he needed to sell himself. He was too precious to me.

He was perfect, and if I needed to find a way to support him, then I’d do just that.

My parents would understand. They had to. But as it was, they paid little to no attention to me. They wouldn’t even find out Emmanuel was living with me unless they decided to come for a visit, which hadn’t happened since I got the apartment, so I wasn’t too worried about it.

I was more worried about asking Emmanuel to stay, since it was clear that he was a free bird. He talked about it all the time. How he never wanted to be tied down; he didn’t agree with monogamy or marriage… He prided himself on being different and not fitting into societal molds, which I loved.

But I also loved him, and I knew I needed to keep him. I would do everything in my power to show him what we could be together… If he would just stay.

By Sunday night, Emmanuel was becoming restless. It was sending my stomach into knots of unease, desperation weaving its way through my chest. At one point, he was outside on his phone for almost an hour, while I watched him from the fire escape, listening to his conversation.

He was talking to his cousin, who wanted him to move to Miami. He told her he wasn’t sure, and that he liked being in New York, but by the end of it, I could tell he was considering it.

He was going to leave.

And I was frantic.

When he came back upstairs, I was on edge, and I think he could tell.

“So I think I’m gonna go stay with Pete,” he said casually, stepping over to me. His large hand cupped my jaw, and my heart was crumbling in my chest. “This weekend was incredible, baby.”

He kissed my lips softly, and I felt like I could cry. The thought of never feeling those lips again… Of losing the affection I’d gotten so used to.

I couldn’t stand it.

“Then stay,” I pleaded softly, fisting his shirt. “Move in with me. I’ll pay for whatever you want… Just… don’t go.”

Emmanuel shushed me, and I hated myself. I hated how pathetic I sounded in that moment. How weak and worthless I was.

Can’t even keep a man.

He doesn’t want you.

The nagging in my brain grew louder as Emmanuel pulled away. “I have to go, Felix. I can’t stay here. I’m going to Miami to live with my cousin.”

“No…” I shook my head over and over, grasping him by the wrist and holding on tight. “You said you were happy with me. You can just leave…”

“I was happy, but I can’t just stay here…” he protested, trying to yank himself back.

I held on harder. “Why not?” My voice shifted to severe in my panic.

Emmanuel’s eyes hardened. “You wanna know why? You’re too intense, Felix. You put too much pressure on me to like, fix you or something.” My brow furrowed, the pain in my chest sharp like I’d been stabbed. He huffed and shook his head. “I’m sorry that you’re damaged, babe. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but it’s too much for me. The sex was great, but it’s time for me to go.”

Using the fact that I was distracted by the hurt, he tugged himself free of my grip and moved for the door. I stepped in front of it.

Things grew hazy. My vision blurred.

Emmanuel was barking at me to get out of the way, but I could barely hear him over the voice in my head… It sounded like Want.

Like me…

You can’t let him leave, Felix.

Don’t let him go.

He’s happy with you.

He needs to stay.

My breathing shallowed as I reached for Emmanuel one last time.

He tried to fight me off, but I got my hands around his neck. We struggled, fought each other. He was gasping things like, get off me, you psycho. But I wasn’t really listening to him.

I was far, far away, lost in my memories of this past weekend. Remembering how good it felt to have him there. To have someone to love.

We stumbled to the floor, and I squeezed his throat, choking him as best I could. But my hands were growing tired. His eyes were glazing over, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer. When I just couldn’t do it anymore, I let go. He began coughing hysterically, trying to catch his breath while I grabbed a ten-pound weight from the floor nearby.

I lifted it and swung.

In one swoop, I bashed his skull. And he was dead.

There was blood flowing all over my floor while I wheezed, and my head spun.

I couldn’t believe I’d just done that. I stared down at his lifeless body. Frozen in time.

He was so sad…

“Oh, shit…” I mumbled, peering over my shoulder at Want. “Look what you made me do?!”

My gaze came back to Emmanuel, tears seeping from my eyes. I’d made him so very sad, so scared and upset. That wasn’t my intention. I wanted to keep him happy.

If anything, I was trying to do him a favor. Life was chaos, and the world was a cold, ugly place. I was just trying to keep him full of joy and love. But he’d resisted it.

“Why did you resist it??” I asked him, standing up on shaky legs. “You should have just let me love you!”

Fog in my head, I meandered to the kitchen and took out my sharpest knife. I brought it back to the foyer where Emmanuel was lying dead and dropped to my knees.

“It’s okay,” I whispered, leaning over him. My fingers brushed the skin on his face. “I’ll make you happy again…”

My hand shook as I brought the knife to the corner of his mouth, pressing it into his flesh. Then I dragged it up.

“Smile for me, baby…”

I did the other side after that. Blood dripped from the wounds around his mouth, but I could see it. My lips curled.

He was smiling at me. He was happy and mine.

Just like he was meant to be.

I lay down next to him and wrapped my arms around his waist, pulling him close. He was still warm, and though the smell of copper in the air was thick, I felt content. I was pleased. The scent surrounded us, flopping my stomach like a tumble-dryer.

But I liked it.

I kissed Emmanuel on the neck, his blood smearing on my cheek. And I sighed out loud.

The void had been filled. I was whole, for the first time in my life.

At long last… The Carver was born.

Coming in here and seeing him is quickly becoming the highlight of my days.

Regardless of how uncomfy it makes me at times, now that he’s actually been speaking to me, asking me personal questions and scrutinizing me with that penetrating amber gaze, I’m getting some minute enjoyment out of these sessions. I know I’m not supposed to be enjoying it… And I’m definitely not supposed to get such immense satisfaction in the routine of it.

But I do.

I’m sitting on the red velvet couch again. Same place, same time. Different day. Wiggling in place because of how heavy and warm his eyes feel resting on me.

“So,” Dr. Love begins, placing the recorder down on the table. “We left off yesterday talking about Emmanuel Pedroia. Your first kill.” I nod quickly. I don’t know what about him makes me feel like I’m sitting in front of the school principal, or like I’m at an important job interview, but I won’t over-analyze it. Not now, anyway. “Tell me about what you did with Emmanuel’s body. After he was dead.”

My eyelashes flutter. This could get weird.

I’ve never told anyone about my process before. I’ve never spoken the words out loud. The things I do with my bodies are my own personal keepsakes. The memories I hold with them are my little treasures, stored away, to be taken out and relived whenever I want. Whenever I need them.

It’s not something I share with others. But then Dr. Love seems so interested…

He’s very much a robot person—I’ve gathered that by now. But if he were to express any kind of excitement over something, it would be this; what he wants me to tell him. He gets this subtle glint in his eyes, and it’s hard to miss. At least for me.

Taking in a deep breath, I release it slowly while he watches me, pressing his fingers together. “I stayed with him for a few hours. Just talking… Kind of like… telling him it was okay.” I huff a small laugh. “I was comforting him. It was crazy.” Dr. Love’s gaze narrows at me and I gulp. “What…?”

“Interesting choice of words…” he mumbles. His eyes are so serious. You’d have no idea that he’s being sort of humorous.

Is he… making fun of me?

I don’t know why, but it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I bite my lip and fidget some more.

“But aside from that, Felix, do you feel as if Emmanuel was there to comfort you?” he asks.

I take a moment to think. “Well, yea. I think so… Maybe not just to comfort me, but to be with me. I wanted him to stay, and he was refusing. So something inside me took over, and I killed him. I think it’s pretty obvious what that means.”

“Is it?” Dr. Love’s head tilts.

“I think… I think so?” It comes out like a question, because this guy has me second-guessing everything. The way I’ve always thought I felt about my kills… Two words from the hot doctor and suddenly I’m unsure.

Damn… He’s good.

He straightens in his chair. “You say you killed Emmanuel because you didn’t want him to leave, right?” I nod. “Because you wanted to keep him…” I nod again, more hesitantly. What is he getting at? He stays quiet for a moment before saying, “You wanted to possess him.”

I can feel how round my eyes are while I stare at him.

“He was an object to you,” he goes on. “Like your mannequin. Something for you to dress up and treasure. Someone to keep you company, who would never leave because he couldn’t. You needed to be in control of him.”

“Well… yea,” I state surely. Of course I wanted to control them. “To keep someone is to control them.”

His eyes sparkle. He reaches for the notepad on the table, a faster movement than I’ve ever witnessed from him, immediately jotting something down.

When he looks back up at me, there’s a vibrant fascination in his gaze. I’m not sure why he’s so entranced by me telling him about all the nonsense I’ve done for the sake of fulfilling my dark urges, but it really seems like my words are giving him life right now.

The warm fuzzies in my stomach are intoxicating.

But then he says, “So you didn’t truly love Emmanuel.”

And a bucket of ice water is dumped on me.

My jaw clenches and I grip the couch on either side of me. “What the fuck does that mean?? Obviously I loved him!”

My outburst elates him even further. He’s loving this.

And I’m freaking pissed.

He crosses his arms. “How do you figure?”

I’m practically seething. “He was my first real love… He was my everything. I couldn’t let him leave me because I loved him so much. What kind of moron are you if you can’t see that??”

His lips twitch. It’s so slight it’s barely a movement. But I still caught it, and it jacks me up even further. Why does he enjoy pissing me off so much? Is he sick or something??

“Felix…” The way he sighs my name settles my rage just a tad. It just sounds so nice coming from his mouth in that smooth, rumbly voice. “Infatuation isn’t love. Just because you were enamored with Emmanuel, it doesn’t mean you were in love with him. You can’t fall in love with someone in a span of a few days.”

This time, I cross my arms over my chest. “Oh yeah? How would you know? Are you some sort of expert on love?”

“Well, it is my name.” He makes this pleased little expression, still not quite a full smile, but it’s smirk-adjacent, his head cocked like he’s insanely proud of himself for that stupid joke.

I can’t help the laugh that bursts from my lips, and his eyes light up even more; an intense burn, though to me it really looks like he’s overjoyed.

“I don’t know, Doc.” I shrug teasingly. “You seem like the kind of person who’s never been in love before.”

In the blink of an eye, he darkens. His eyes, his features… They all seem to go from jubilant to scary in seconds flat. It has me swallowing hard.

“What would make you assume that?” he asks, quietly luring, like he’s daring me to say the wrong thing so he can attack me.

You’d totally forget that I’m the serial killer in the room right now. Unfortunately for him, it just makes me want to poke some more.

“I have an intuition for things like this,” I tell him casually. “I’ve seen a lot of love. Hell, I’ve fallen in love more times than I can even count.” I pause. “Actually, I could count. It’s at least half of my victims…”

“I told you already, Felix…” he sort of growls at me. “Infatuation is not love. Just because you want to control someone, that doesn’t mean you’re in love with them.”

“It doesn’t??” I gasp sarcastically. “Oh, deary me! How will I go on?!” I pretend to pass out with my hand to my forehead, slumping back on the couch. Then I laugh and sit up straight. His face is the picture of unamused. “You’re not me, Doc. Clearly.” I scoff, looking him up and down. “As much as you want to, you can’t feel what I’ve felt. You’ll never know what was going on in my heart with my exes. You can’t just say I’ve never been in love…”

“I didn’t say you’ve never been in love,” he interrupts me. “I’m sure you were in love at least once… And that’s the love you’re chasing. The one who got away.”

I freeze. Like, solid. I think my heart even stops beating.

Cameron…

I swallow thickly. There’s no way he knows about Cam… I’ve never talked about him to anyone, at least not any cops or doctors. So what was that… a lucky guess??

Or is he really just that good of a psychologist?

Dr. Love does that cocky head slant again, as if he can read all over my face that he’s right. And it pleases him immensely.

“Oh, trust me, Felix. We’ll have more than enough time to continue talking about this,” he rumbles triumphantly. “But for now, let’s get back on track. You were telling me what you did with Emmanuel after you killed him. Leave out no details.”

“Please…” I mumble under my breath, and he squints at me. I roll my eyes. “Yeah, so I laid with him for a while. Until he got cold. When his warmth went away, I got nervous. I knew he wouldn’t feel like him for much longer. So I put him in the bath. Which was really difficult, by the way, because he was heavy as shit.”

Dr. Love blinks at me, probably looking expressionless to everyone else. But I can read him. Somehow I’m able to tell how invested he is in my story, and it’s confusing because I’ve only known him a few days, but already I seem to be picking up on his little mannerisms. The changes to his expressions that allude to him being eager, or even, dare I say, enchanted.

I could be way off, but I don’t think I am. I’ve always been good at reading people. Especially people who don’t want to be read.

“I gave him a bath to keep him warm and clean up the blood,” I continue. “Then I dressed him and brought him to my bed. And we slept together well into the next day.”

“How long did you keep him in your apartment?” Dr. Love asks.

A flush of heat rises in my cheeks, and I’m not sure why. I’m not embarrassed. That’s not what I’m feeling. I think the uneasiness is coming from talking to him about my relationship with Emmanuel. The same feelings came up yesterday when he was asking me about the sex. It’s like I want to impress him or… I want to make him jealous.

It’s beyond strange, but I can’t help how my body is reacting. When I speak to Dr. Love, it’s like all my Daddy issues tunnel their way up to the surface.

Shifting in my seat, I say, “Three days. Until the smell became overwhelming. It was summer after all…”

“And in all that time, was there any sexual gratification?” he asks, pinning me down with those eyes.

I gulp and wiggle some more, chewing incessantly on my lip.

“Felix…” His tone is deep, reprimanding. Even more like my father… “Be honest with me. You know you can.”

I nod slowly, licking my lips.

“What did you do to relieve your sexual urges?” He keeps nudging, leaning in closer, resting his elbows on his knees.

My lips part, but it takes me a moment to get the words out. “I just… I would touch him. Rub myself on him… I would pretend he was asleep, and I was trying to get off without waking him.”

Dr. Love’s eyes are wide, interest fully piqued. His broad chest seems to be moving up and down faster than usual with visible breaths.

“Did you have sex with him?” he asks quietly. “While he was asleep?”

The air in the room feels thick and hazy. I don’t know what’s going on here, but it feels strange. I’m not supposed to share these details with anyone. They’re supposed to be only mine, kept locked away in my mind. Putting them out into the world feels like something so very bad. Awful, horrendous, abhorrent.

We know I like it. But not only that, my doctor likes it, too. He wants me to tell him the terrible things I’ve done. He’s… impressed.

My head shakes a little. “I didn’t need to. Just touching and kissing him, feeling his skin on mine… It was enough to get me off. And honestly…” My voice cuts out, and Dr. Love lifts his brows expectantly. Eagerly. “It was better than any of the sex we had together when he was… awake.”

A small rumbling noise comes from the doctor as he shifts, sitting back in his seat. He slowly reaches over, picking up the notepad again and scribbling out some words while I release a shaky breath.

His tongue slides over his lower lip, the sight flipping my stomach as a tightness spreads throughout my gut, up to my chest. It’s mesmerizing, intoxicating, the feeling of talking to him about this.

And seeing how much he appreciates it.

“Do you have other patients who have killed people?” I ask him, itchingly interested.

He glances up from the notepad. He’s quiet for a moment, like he’s considering whether he wants to answer me or not. But eventually he says, “None like you.”

Three words. That’s all it takes for me to soar.

I push my glasses up my nose to distract from the hearts in my eyes that are probably super obvious. This is all I could have asked for in being arrested for my crimes…

I know I sound narcissistic, but that’s kind of the name of my game. I can’t deny how good it feels to be fawned over. It’s the attention I’ve been craving since I was a little boy following my dad around his office.

I watch Dr. Love closely, not even trying to be coy, while his pen moves on the paper. Today he’s wearing a maroon button-down that really brings out his eyes. It’s actually almost the same shade as this odd couch I’m sitting on, and his standard black pants, which I swear must be tailored to fit his physique.

The way that dress shirt hugs his muscles is hypnotic. The sleeves are rolled up his thick forearms, allowing me to see that he has tattoos. Lots of them, from the look of it. Lines of dark blue weave all along his brown skin, tracing the cords of muscle disappearing inside his shirt.

I desperately want to see how far up they go. I want to know if he has more… maybe on his chest, or his stomach. That area of his pelvis that slopes into his pants.

The V. I bet he has a killer V.

“Felix, do you need anything?” His voice startles me and I flinch, eyes popping up to his.

“Hm?” I ask, giving him my most innocent, I promise I wasn’t just thinking about your naked body face.

He places the notepad back on the table. “Anything to make your stay more comfortable.” I’m sure the look I’m giving him is one of pure shock because his lips do that little purse thing again. “It’s in my best interest to keep you content while I’m here examining you. If you’d like anything… Another book, perhaps? I’m working on getting you some better food. I can’t help but notice that you don’t even have any underwear on.”

That last bit causes me to choke on air and start coughing hysterically. He simply stares at me while I get myself under control.

“Um… yea. Underwear.” My blinking becomes rapid. “Well, word on the street is you can get whatever you want around here through the guards.” I smirk teasingly. “I have no problem spending ten minutes on my knees to get some boxers.”

I gawk at him for any sign of a reaction. It’s really a shameless attempt at making him jealous, but I can’t help it. He just mentioned my underwear… meaning he’s been thinking about what’s inside my pants.

Maybe?

It’s a stretch, especially because of how stone-faced he is right now at my little joke about trading sex for goods with the guards.

“Felix, you’re a serial murderer,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’m not sure which human, let alone correctional officer, would willingly go near you for any sort of sexual favor.”

I can’t help the offended gasp that flees my lips, though I do have to chuckle. Once more, he looks simply illuminated. Does he really like making me laugh? Even when it’s by making fun of me?

“What are you trying to say?” I rumble through my grin.

He leans in. “I’m saying that someone would have to be exceptionally stupid to let you anywhere near their dick.”

A spark inside me sizzles, my heart pumping faster by the second. It feels like he’s flirting with me… And even though he’s still his buttoned-up, seriously professional self, I can’t fight the urge to spar with him. I really like it already, and I think he might like it, too.

“Some people like to dance with danger… Doctor,” I rumble back to him.

His gaze narrows. “Just tell me what you want, Felix. I don’t have all day.”

This. This is exactly what I want.

The flutters in my gut are rapacious as I lift a shoulder, feigning disinterest as part of my little game.

“Why? Like I said, I could just get on my knees—”

“Because I’m offering,” he cuts me off with a growl. I think he’s becoming frustrated with me, and I don’t know why, but it’s electrifying. I guess I like pissing him off as much as he likes doing it to me. “You’re not getting on your knees, Felix.”

My eyes widen. “I’m not…?”

“No.” He squints. “Absolutely not. Now answer the question so I can get you out of my office.”

The dominance in his tone flips some kind of switch in me. And my head bobs.

“Boxers,” I mumble. “I would like some boxer briefs.”

His head slopes in that pleased way. Because he won.

Sure enough, only a few hours later while I’m scampering around my padded cell, Claude the orderly drops by to deliver me a gift.

It’s a pair of yellow Calvin Klein boxer briefs. The color isn’t one I would have expected, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love it. There’s no color in this damn place. I miss the brightness outside these walls.

“There are more pairs in your locker,” Claude informs me. Then he leaves without another word.

I can’t even pretend I’m not swooning right now. I can’t believe Dr. Love, the emotionless robot doctor, actually gave me a gift. And from the way he was acting earlier, he really wanted to be the one to give me these soft goodies.

Pushing down my loose jumpsuit pants, I step into my new boxers, yanking them up. They fit perfectly. I spend a few minutes just twirling around my cell in my new Calvins. I even take my shirt off and launch into push-ups and crunches. Because being in sexy underwear gives my mood a boost, for sure.

While I work out, my mind wanders.

If Dr. Love gave me this, I wonder what else he would give me? Clearly, he doesn’t want me attempting to trade sex for goods, like the rest of the prisoners do. Even though, despite my big talk earlier, I’m sure he was right. No one would come near me for that sort of thing. I’ve been here for months. If it hasn’t happened yet, it won’t. I’m too isolated. Since the moment I set foot in Alabaster Penitentiary, I’ve been kept separate from the rest of the prisoners, and even a majority of the guards. It’s very alienating. And lonely.

That was why I begged and pleaded for a cellmate when I was still upstairs and could have one. And sure, the satisfaction I got from killing Ivan Wilkerson was exactly what I needed. But I still miss being around other people. I miss watching them go about their days, blissfully unaware of me lurking in the shadows.

Being locked away in the East Wing is like a new level of my invisibleness. I hate it.

It’s probably why I’ve become so swept up in Dr. Love. He’s the only person I have.

Well, him and…

The sound of garbled cries draws my attention to the closest person I have to a cellmate. The only human being I get to interact with besides the ones who were hired to do so.

Crawling over to the wall that separates us, I knock on it. “Hey, pal. Wanna talk about it?”

“Fuck off,” O’Malley grumbles at me, sounding like he’s splintering over there.

It’s the perfect opportunity for me to fuck with him some more.

“That’s no way to speak to your only friend,” I hum, leaning up against the padded wall.

“Yer not meh friend!” he howls, then goes back to sobbing.

“Okay, but there’s obviously something you want to get off your chest.” I keep needling. “It’s eating you alive, Kieran. If you don’t get it out, it’ll drive you crazy.”

He sniffles. “I’m not crazy…”

“Right.” I roll my eyes.

“Fuck you, killer! I’m nothing like you,” he screams.

The words bounce around in my brain. Just like that day, in the cafeteria.

That’s what he said to me. It intrigued me more than anything, but now that I’ve been sharing a wall with him for weeks, it’s bringing my urges up to the surface of my skin. Like an antibody that lies dormant in my blood until certain circumstances release it.

It sizzles and smolders, plaguing my muscles with the need to unleash.

I want to kill you, Kieran O’Malley.

I doze off to the sounds of the Irishman crying, my head swarmed with thoughts. But I still don’t dream. My dreams are long gone, and at this point, I’m sure they’re never coming back.

No more extravagant adventures. No more harmonies and luscious tingles of subconscious arousal.

No more color.

But then I remember my yellow boxers, and I smile. At least I have some color.

I wonder what else the lovely doctor would give me if I asked nice enough…

A few hours later, I’m awoken by Claude coming in and lacing me into a straitjacket. I’m annoyed because I haven’t been in one in a few days, and I didn’t miss it at all. The second he gets it on me, I’m already sweating.

He brings me to the exam room, where Dr. Johansson and Dr. Templeton are already waiting.

“Felix. Have a seat.” Johansson motions to the chair. I let out a tired breath and do as he says, already not excited about whatever they want to do.

Claude comes over and before I know what’s happening, he removes my pants and my new boxers in one swoop.

I’m naked below the waist. On an exam chair, with three strange men in the room.

“What the fuck??” I grunt as Claude shackles my ankles to the bottom of the chair. “What are you going to do?” He straps in my neck, tight enough that I cough.

Johansson ignores me, flipping through papers in a folder while Templeton attaches electrodes to my temples. I’m nervous as hell… They’ve never made me get naked before. Not that I’m even fully naked… My top half is in a straitjacket, which makes it even more awkward.

Johansson begins speaking, as he always does, introducing himself and all that nonsense. But the words that come into immediate focus are sexual arousal test.

“Sexual what now?” I mumble, squirming and yanking against the shackles.

But they won’t fucking answer me. They just go about their business, like I’m not even a person. I’m just a fucking object.

A science project.

Templeton moves up to my side, and I witness him squirting something onto his rubber-gloved hand. Oh, hell no…

“No, no… stop… what are you doing??” I grunt as he reaches for my dick. My pulse is pounding in my ears, and my muscles are stiff, my soft dick in his grasp. “Fffuck… Jesus! Get off me!”

“Felix, relax,” Johansson murmurs from somewhere behind me, as this goddamn asshole Dr. Templeton starts jerking me off.

I mean… I guess it feels okay, in the grand scheme of sensations. But I don’t want it. I don’t like it because I’m not attracted to him, and I don’t want him touching me.

Glancing up at his face, he’s emotionless. He’s not even looking at me, he’s watching some machine behind me while his hand moves up and down on my flaccid dick. The feeling of lubed stroking firms it up, though very slowly. I’m sure if someone I actually liked was doing it, I would already be rock hard.

“I don’t like this…” I breathe. But no one fucking listens to me.

His hand just keeps jerking me off, gradually building its pace. Squeezing my cock, pulling and pulling. With my jaw set, my eyes fall closed, and I pretend I’m somewhere else.

I try imagining someone else doing it. Letting out a breath, I seek to calm myself down so I can focus.

The first person who pops into my head is Dr. Love. It’s surprising, because usually when I jerk off, I remember my victims. Or sometimes, I think about Cam. It usually does the trick to get me off quick, which is the only way I do this to myself. I’ve never been one to drag things out…

And especially right now, with a stranger’s hand on my dick, I just want to get it over with.

Behind my eyes, Dr. Love is touching me. And he’s watching me while he does it, his deep bronze gaze locked on me as he grips my cock, stroking and squeezing, slow but firm. My erection fills up much faster at the images in my head.

But I flinch out of it when I feel another lubed hand on my balls.

My eyes snap open, and I look down. Now Templeton is using his other hand to massage my nuts and I whimper. It feels good… But I hate that it does. I don’t want it to feel good.

I hate this.

“Please stop…” I whine, despising how weak I sound.

I sound like the prey, not the predator. Fuck this.

My teeth grind so hard they might snap. “If I get out of this thing, you better watch… out…” My threat is choked off from the tightening in my loins. An orgasm is building inside me, whether I want it to or not.

Closing my eyes, I think about Dr. Love some more. At least that way it’ll be him who’s doing this to me, not some creepy fuckhead.

His jerking is methodical. It almost feels like a machine is tugging at my cock. But now that it’s hard, there are more inches to work on as it moves up and down. Up, and down.

My mind is growing hazy, lost in the sensation.

His hand lets go of me, and I let out a breath of relief. Thank God, he stopped.

But then something new wraps around my cock.

I’m horrified at what I might see if I open my eyes. Nervously peeking down, they widen when I find a sex toy working its way up and down on my cock now. One of those fleshlight things.

I have to admit, it feels significantly better than the hand.

Leaning my head back, I give in to what’s happening, since I really don’t have a choice. My hips flex while he works the toy on my hard cock, pushing and pulling. It feels like I’m fucking someone, though not quite real. It’s like what fucking Want might feel like.

His fingers are still fondling my balls, and when they slink between the crack of my ass, I’m not even surprised.

“So this is really what we’re doing…?” I grunt, my voice breathy from the arousal, though I’m still pissed off. I don’t want any of this, despite how good it feels.

Templeton’s finger moves around on my asshole, and I clench. I’ve never taken anything in my ass before… Not that I haven’t been tempted. I’ve always sort of wanted to know how it feels. Especially because the guys I do it to seem like they’re drunk on it when it’s happening.

There was one time I almost tried it…

The memory sends all sorts of confusing feelings bounding through me.

I’m turned on, but terrified at the same time.

I like it, but I don’t…

Templeton’s finger pushes inside me. “Fuck… you fucking prick. If I get out of here, you’re dead,” I growl at him, keeping my eyes screwed shut.

The finger works in and out, while the fleshlight moves on my cock, and I reluctantly relax a bit. I don’t want to, but the fingering feels better when I’m not all tightened up.

My legs spread just an inch. Then an inch more. I open up a little because I like the feeling, and in my mind, I’m picturing Dr. Love.

“You like this, don’t you, Felix?” he asks in that growly voice, leaning over me while watching my mouth.

Gulp. “Yes… More.”

“You want my cock in you?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I… I want your cock in me.”

And then the finger slips out. I miss it. But only for a moment before it’s replaced with something thicker.

“Unghfuck,” I gasp as the stiff object slides deep inside me.

When my eyes creep open this time, I find Templeton using a glass dildo on me. It’s black and not much thicker than maybe two fingers. But it’s long. And he stuffs it all the way inside.

“Uhh…” My back arches and my eyes close. “Doctor…”

“You love me inside you, don’t you, Felix?” Dr. Love whispers.

“Yes.”

“Are you going to come for me?”

My lips tremble on the word, “Yes.”

And before I know what’s happening, I’m spinning out.

The orgasm sneaks up on me and I come, cock throbbing into the fleshlight while my hands squeeze to fists inside my straitjacket. I bite down hard on my lip to keep my moans in. But inside my mind, I’m groaning out his name.

Dr. Lemuel… Love.

My breathing is labored while I come down from the climax. And almost instantly, everything is removed. The dildo slides out of my ass, the fleshlight off my spent cock. My head is fuzzy while they all move around me, taking notes, removing electrodes, unshackling and pulling my pants and boxers back on.

Chest bumping up and down, I glance up at Dr. Templeton, the miscellaneous doctor who just fucked me, in a sense. And he has not the slightest bit of emotion on his face. It’s as if nothing happened. Like he wasn’t just knuckle-deep in my ass, fisting my cock for fifteen minutes.

“I guess psychopaths recognize their own…” I mumble at him, then glare at Johansson.

Neither of them says a word to me. Johansson nods at Claude, and then leaves with Templeton in tow, after which Claude locks up and leaves me behind. I’m just sitting, weighted to the exam room chair.

I spend hours staring at the wall, lost in jumbled images of what just happened.

A few hours later, Rook brings me back to my padded cell. He leaves and comes back a few minutes later with Eggo waffles, then feeds them to me.

But I’m completely out of it all the while. Literally, I feel like I’m outside of my body, looking on. Watching the husk of Felix Darcey move around.

So when Joy shows up a couple of hours after that to bring me for a shower, I’m really just looking forward to getting clean. I’m praying for at least relatively warm water so I can scrub that experience off my body.

But go figure, as we’re walking around the corner, we bump right into Dr. Love.

“Oh, hello, Doctor,” Joy says in a polite voice that’s obviously fake.

“Officer Jameson,” Dr. Love replies in his usual robotic tone. For some reason, right now it’s soothing to me. I think maybe I want to latch onto him because he makes me more comfortable than those other assholes. His eyes flick to me briefly before he asks Joy, “Taking Mr. Darcey for his shower?”

In the blink of an eye, my insecurities go full-force. Why is he assuming that? Do I look like shit?? Am I all mussed up? Can he tell from looking at me that I was violated last night??

Joy makes some joke about me keeping my balls clean, and I roll my eyes.

“Funny…” I mutter, then decide to keep talking. “But no, seriously… I’d really like to clean myself. Straitjackets aren’t exactly breathable, so it’s muggy as fuck in here.”

Joy chuckles, but my eyes are stuck on my doctor’s. He’s staring at me in a way that has me shrinking beneath that penetrating gaze.

Why do I feel like he can totally tell something happened? It’s like he knows I’m feeling off… He can sense it.

No way. That’s not possible. I mean, he’s good, but he’s not that good.

“I’d like to observe.” Dr. Love’s even-toned voice wipes out any trace of amusement in the air.

“Pardon?” Joy asks, sounding as startled as I am at what he’s suggesting.

“I would like to observe,” he repeats himself, slower. Condescending. Standard, really.

Joy is fuming. I can feel it. “Oh, no, I heard you. I’m just a little confused as to why you’d like to observe my inmate showering.”

My eyes are flinging between Joy and Dr. Love, the tension shrinking me further into myself. I was already feeling off after last night. Now the two of them are arguing again and it’s just exhausting.

Dr. Love’s eyes seem to be lingering on me as he says, “My research methods are mine alone, Officer.”

I swallow a hard lump in my throat. He really wants to watch me showering…? Why??

My pulse is already ringing so hard in my head it feels like it might knock me over, muscles stiffening at the idea of him observing me while I shower. Part of me is charmed at the idea that he might want to see me naked…

But then the other part, the one that remembers another asshole in a position of power molesting me with sex toys last night, is incredibly wary.

Joy concedes with a smartass remark I can barely even hear as she yanks me along, up the hall to the East Wing showers. She opens the door and pulls me through it, shoving me toward the stall we usually use. And I just stand there, my insides humming, while she takes out a new soap bar and a plastic garbage bag for me to stand on.

I’m painfully aware of Dr. Love’s presence as Joy removes my shackles, then helps me out of my straitjacket. My eyes keep flitting to his while she tells me I have five minutes, standing back with her hand on her Glock.

I suck in one last breath to calm myself before I begin stripping. Slipping out of my shoes first, I try balancing on the plastic trash bag in order to avoid touching the floor of these nasty showers. The foot fungus would be inevitable, and I’m not about that. Stepping out of my pants slowly, I leave them on the small stool nearby. And now I’m standing in front of them in nothing but my new yellow boxer briefs. The ones that Dr. Love got for me.

My eyes glide to his, and I see some intensity there. Something very subtle, though it’s certainly a differentiation from his normal look, even if minor. Our eyes remain locked while I slip my fingers into the waistband of my Calvins and push them down.

Here I stand, naked as the day I was born, with people staring at me. Unfortunately, I can’t say this is the first time this has happened to me here. But it’s definitely the first time a doctor asked to observe me in my birthday suit. And judging by the way he’s just standing there, I’m still not really sure what he aims to get out of this.

Spinning away, I give him my back, pressing the button of the wall to turn on the shower spray. Of course, it’s cold as fuck at first, but it warms up a little after a few seconds. I wash myself as thoroughly as possible, as fast as possible, since I know I’m running out of time. Showering feels really good right now, just like I knew it would. And I don’t want to linger on washing my private areas since I have an audience, but I make sure to get in there and hopefully get rid of the memory of losing my butt virginity last night to someone I most certainly didn’t want to give it to.

Peeking over my shoulder, I blink at Dr. Love while he does exactly what he said he would… Observes. It really looks like he’s seeing something in what I’m doing. What that is, I’m not at all sure.

Droplets of water fall over the lenses of my glasses, and it reminds me that I should have taken them off. But I don’t even care. I’d rather be able to see what’s going on around me than worry about having to dry my glasses. I hate taking them off, especially around here. It’s just another disadvantage to put me in, when I’m already their chained-up side-show attraction.

When I’m done rinsing, Joy throws me a towel. Turning to face Dr. Love, I stand there for a solid few seconds, letting him see me completely naked. I don’t cover up with the towel. I simply brush it over my skin, watching him while he watches me.

To my own surprise and immense satisfaction, his eyes do an appraising glide down my frame. I feel them, like the searing heat of a laser moving along my chest, my abs, my pelvis. He obviously sees my dick because it’s just hanging out, and while I do feel a lot of different things right now, shame isn’t one of them. Because even after a cold shower, I’m still more than satisfied with what I have to offer downstairs.

Dr. Love’s eyes even move down my legs to my feet, before coming back up. And he gazes at me while I towel myself dry. I take advantage of the fact that I think I have him captivated, running the towel along the curves of my body. But this time, his eyes stay with mine. The amber remains on my gray, and though I don’t see any sort of indication that he likes what he sees, he definitely appears invested. That much I can tell. It’s a face he makes often during our sessions, giving away the slightest glimpse into the mystery doctor I know practically nothing about.

I don’t know if he’s gay, or straight, or bi. I don’t know if he’s sexually attracted to me… Honestly, I feel like he might be asexual.

I don’t know where he’s from, what kinds of things he does for fun, if he even knows what fun is.

But what I do know is that he’s dazzled by me. Maybe in a different way than I am by him, but still. He’s hooked nonetheless.

And as I get dressed, while Joy puts an end to whatever was just happening in this room and Dr. Love storms away, I’m reminded of a passage I read in my book the other night…

The ongoing dilemma we face as researchers in the behavioral sciences is learning to live with what we know. Making a space for it inside ourselves. There must be a distinct line where we end and our patients begin.

But what separates true psychological researchers from the therapists of the world is that we are willing to skip over that line from time to time. We must be willing to give ourselves over to the sincere nature of our research. To become one with our own demons and let them dance with those of our patients.

Only then can we remove the veil. Only then can we begin to mold.

It may sound odd, but adjusting to life on this island hasn’t actually been that much of an adjustment for me.

Sure, sleeping in a new place always takes a couple of days, especially when that place is a giant, infinitely dark mansion, the interior of which looks like it was decorated by Lestat and Louis. But even so, I’ve found that the sounds of the ocean work rather well to lull me to sleep. I’ve been known to use a sound machine at night to calm the raging waters of my mind.

My new home comes with a free one built-in.

Even the gym here is exceptional, and since I’m partial to working out in the evenings, I rarely bump into anyone, save for the occasional guard. But from what I understand, a majority of the officers work out in the mornings. I’m mainly referring to John Chevelle and his partner—or one of them—Joy Jameson. They’re kind of the last people I want to run into here at home, since they obviously don’t like me, and dealing with them daily at work is more than enough, for all of us.

The thing is, I’m a quiet loner. I think we’ve established that by now, so not having any friends is really nothing new for me. In fact, I prefer it that way. I don’t enjoy socializing, and I never have. I remember having a few close friends in high school, but after everything… happened, they all sort of trickled off. That was when I channeled all my time and energy into not only getting the fuck out of my parents’ house, but also getting into a good school, and eventually med school. My entire life became about learning, because it’s my favorite thing.

I’m hopeless and desperately smitten to understanding the human mind. It’s the only sweetheart I need.

I’m coming out of my office to go meet with Dr. Johansson as a thought tickles.

I wrapped my hands around his throat…

I can feel the tightening. I swallow hard, and it burns.

My fingers squeezed into the soft flesh, the straining muscle…

With Felix’s words decorating my brain, I slip around the corner and knock on the office door of my colleague.

“Come in,” Johansson hollers, quietly. His demeanor allows for zero loudness. I’m sure even when he shouts, it’s just like a regular person’s speaking.

Stepping into his office, I find his usual posse already inside. Johansson is seated at his desk, Dr. Templeton is across the room with his nose buried in some charts, and the one who’s apparently not a doctor, though he’s still treated like one by the others, Abel Figueroa, sits on a small love seat against the wall.

I’ve received nothing but warm welcome from this little trio, but if we’re being honest, I’m even more skeptical of them than I am of Officer Chevelle and his band of morally questionable meatheads. Basically, the moment I was done shaking their hands, I was looking into all of them.

Unsurprisingly, Figueroa is the one with the least amount of paper trail. He did attend university in Cartagena—conveniently where Manuel Blanco is from—though he never graduated. I couldn’t find any sort of work history, outside of a few odd jobs in Colombia, before immigrating to the States, roughly ten years ago.

Templeton is from Scotland. He graduated from the University of Edinburgh with his PhD in Behavioral Medicine, and I suppose it’s somewhere around there that he first made acquaintance with Dr. Johansson.

Dr. Jarvis Johansson is the most interesting of all of them, and of course that would make him the most suspect. Born in Norway, he attended school there, then got his PhD from The Karolinska Institutet in Sweden. After that, he began publishing journals on his research into methods like electroshock therapy and the trans-orbital lobotomy, and being that it was the eighties, he’d missed the boat on most of that stuff, and was shunned by the medical community.

He did, however, accumulate a bit of a cult following for his ideals, and was approached by the CIA for some off-the-books work. I’m sure he’d never expect me to know these things, but my connections are exceptional, and from what I understand, the bizarre methods of practice are exactly what led him here.

The main man offers me a curt smile and gestures to a seat across from him at his desk. “Please, Doctor, come sit.”

Doing so, I wander over and have a seat, subtly checking on the other two as I do. Templeton isn’t paying me a single glance of attention, seemingly fascinated by whatever he’s reading, while Figueroa is practically bouncing in his seat, looking all measures of eager.

I can’t help the appraisingly skeptical look I give him before turning back to Johansson. “So… what’s the news?”

Johansson leans in on his desk, giving me his full attention as he says, “I would like for you to sit in on more of our experiments.”

Folding my arms, I sit back in my seat. “I see…”

“Felix seems to have taken a shine to you. Moreover, he trusts you. And while I respect that the information you’re gathering during your sessions is exclusive to the Warden…” I give him a kind of duh head movement. I know for a fact he’s chomping at the bit to listen to my Felix tapes, but I’m all set. My job is to study The Carver and report to Manuel Blanco. No one else. “I also think that having you here and involved in the experiments could be only beneficial to our success.”

I’m quiet while I think about what he’s saying. Since the moment I started here, Johansson has been eager to collaborate with me. He thinks that if we put our heads together, our Darcey research could reach leaps and bounds over anything any of us have been able to achieve with patients before.

What he doesn’t understand, though, is that I work alone for a reason. I have my ways, and I don’t like other people entrenching on that. I’m sure I sound like a massive control freak, but if it looks like a duck, waddles and quacks like a duck, then guess what…

“I can see that you’re hesitant,” Johansson jumps back in. “But I assure you, you won’t be when you see what we’ve been working on.”

He gives a quick nod to Figueroa, who launches up excitedly, rushing over the wall on the far side of the room. He pulls down a white projector screen, then Johansson turns on the projector feature on his laptop. Instantly, a video begins to play on the wall.

It’s Felix. He’s being brought into the examination room and sat down in the chair. Then the orderly removes his pants. And his boxers.

The ones I got him.

I feel myself stiffen, but I ignore it and keep watching the screen as Johansson and Templeton ready their EEG machine, and the orderly shackles Felix’s ankles and neck to the chair, before stepping off to the side. Templeton snaps on a rubber glove and pours what looks like some kind of lubrication into his hand.

My eyes fling to the tall Scot, who’s still just standing across the room, reading through a file. He seems either unaware or uninterested in the fact that we’re all sitting here watching recorded footage of him touching a young man’s dick.

Literally. There’s a roughly sixty-inch projection on the wall of Dr. Templeton masturbating Felix Darcey while he struggles against his straitjacket and restraints.

The strangest thing happens inside me. This burning tightness knots my stomach, spreading its way up my esophagus until it feels like a man made of fire is sitting on my chest.

I don’t understand this reaction, or its source. It’s confusing as hell, feeling this way. But it won’t stop. And the more I watch of Felix’s dick now being pushed into a sex toy while Johansson stands there monitoring his brain activity, the more I feel like I might Hulk-rage right out of my clothes.

It could be because Felix clearly doesn’t want what’s happening in the video. His face is contorted in displeasure, tension, and unease, which only seems to fade partially when he closes his eyes. I’m not one to become uncomfortable on behalf of my patients, but I certainly possess empathy. And this is video footage of my patient being sexually assaulted in the name of research.

Or maybe that’s why I’m so upset right now? Because Felix Darcey is my patient more than he is theirs—says the Warden, after all. If anyone is going to overpower him in order to obtain some kind of behavioral tidbit, it should be me.

I find myself gulping while I watch Felix squirm. His black-framed glasses sliding down his pointed nose a bit, chestnut hair mussed about and sort of sweaty at the temples. It reminds me of the shower yesterday, when I watched him. I’ve never seen someone shower with glasses on. I think Felix’s sight is very important to him. Removing his glasses makes him feel exposed, impotent.

Like he is right now, in this video.

Templeton picks up a black glass dildo from the counter and lubricates it. And the first hefty frisson of discomfort causes my spine to straighten.

“What is the point of this??” I turn and bark at Johansson, my eyes flinging to Templeton, who still isn’t paying any attention. But at my accusatory tone, his gaze springs up for just a moment. I clear my throat, remembering myself. “I just mean, what sorts of results are you looking for from sexual stimulation?”

Johansson’s lips quirk. “There is so very much we hope to gain from this, Doctor. Felix’s crimes were of a sexual nature, and we would love to understand how his brain reacts to sexual stimulations, then work the violent acts into that—”

“His crimes weren’t of a sexual nature, per se…” I mumble over him, gaze narrowing in his direction, before I glare at Templeton once more.

My eyes move hesitantly over to the projector screen. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I blink myself back into focus.

When I look again at Johansson, he’s making a face like he’s dying to ask what I meant by that. But he won’t, because he knows I’m not going to share my research. The things I’ve learned from Felix without having to insert things inside him like a common rapist.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek until I taste blood.

“Be that as it may,” Johansson goes on, “Felix is a special case, as I’m sure you know.”

“Yes,” I grunt pointedly, “I do know that.” Much more than you quacks.

Johansson gapes at me for a second before continuing. “So you understand that we must leave no stone unturned. We’re working on many things we can’t wait to explore with him. There’s this machine I procured, like something of a sono—”

“Doctor, with all due respect,” I interrupt, and lean forward on the desk, pushing myself to ignore Felix having an orgasm in my peripheral, “these things are all well and good, as long as they don’t interfere with my research. Keep frying the brains of those other subjects all you want, but I’m going to have to put my foot down when it comes to anything that could affect him mentally. Felix Darcey’s mind is what holds the answers to our questions. If you wipe him clean, like doing a hard reset or something, then we’re left with something regular. Boring. And none of us want that… Especially Manuel Blanco.”

I give them a knowing look after throwing out The Ivory’s name, because he is the one in charge of all this. He’s the ringmaster here, and he brought me in to work on Felix. I know these men are permanent here, but they’re essentially just tools to the trade. I respect the research, and of course the out-of-the-box methods, but not when it could impede my work.

Johansson stares me down for a moment, blank-faced, before briefly looking to Templeton, who simply blinks at me. My gaze flicks briefly to the screen where Felix is dazed and huffing in his post-coital state, being redressed by the orderly.

I remember watching him in the shower, his movements jerky and hesitant at first. But then, when he was drying off, he turned to stare at me, unashamed. Those are the two halves of Felix Darcey. The insecure part with severe daddy issues, craving love and affection without the slightest clue how to get it. And then The Carver. Controlling and possessive, desperate to give Felix what he wants.

That’s what these people will never understand. Every case is different, and with someone like Felix, the best way to get into his head is to be what he wants.

“You know, Dr. Love, we’ve read your books,” Johansson says. My head tilts. “All of them.”

Ah. So that’s what this is about.

They understand my fascination with unorthodox medical practices, because they read Beneficial Brainwashing. And they’re trying to impress me with all of this experimentation.

I must admit, I’m flattered. Though I’m still not sure how they would know it was me who wrote it… The Ivory probably told them.

“Well then, if that’s the case, then surely you’ll see exactly what I mean here,” I retort. “Things like electroshock therapy, the trans-orbital, and if we’re going there, depatterning and repatterning would be like blasphemy on a patient like Felix. There is no cure for what he is. No reason to attempt reshaping him. All we can do is study him and learn.”

Johansson’s face shifts. His eyebrows jump behind his spectacles and he looks impressed. When I glance at Templeton, he doesn’t. He’s back to reading his files, as if this conversation is beneath him.

My jaw clenches, teeth grinding together. I do not like this fool.

“Point well made, Doctor.” Johansson nods. “We’re here to learn from you, after all.”

I can’t help but scoff. “Please. You have decades on me.” Johansson waves off my compliment, which is genuine, regardless of what I think about him personally. He’s an underground rock star in the field of outlawed psychological research practices. “I just mean, where Felix is concerned, this is my show. And so, yes, I will join you for experiments in the future. But I would like them to be cleared with me first. No more surprising him in the middle of the night. I’ve just begun to get him comfortable and you’re kind of ruining it.”

Johansson nods. “Right. Yes, of course. It won’t happen again.”

I stand up, because I’m done with this little meeting. Plus, I planned to see Felix in the morning today, and for some reason I have this itching desire to get into session right now.

Johansson stands, and Figueroa, who I’d honestly forgotten was here, rushes over. The both of them shake my hand, and when I turn to Templeton, he simply peeks up at me one last time and nods, before returning to his reading.

Prick.

I spin away without another word, going for the door. Johansson’s voice calls to my back, “We’ll be in touch, Dr. Love!”

But I just wave him off, leaving his office and stalking the winding corridors back to mine. My head seems to be all stuffy with many congesting thoughts. But my primary need is to get Felix into my office right away. I’m not going to mention the experiment I just witnessed, but I have this strong desire to just sit with him, and see if he alludes to it… what happened to him.

I won’t say that I don’t feel protective of him, because clearly I do. This knee-jerk reaction to check on him tells me I’m possessive and concerned for his well-being. But I also know that it’s not out of the realm of possibility for me to feel this way about a patient. I’m sure if some asshole doctor started trying to experiment on Trevel without my permission, it would piss me off.

Though that’s sort of happening now… Since he’s been left in Callahan’s hands.

Shaking it off, I stagger into my office, going for my desk drawer. I trust Callahan for the most part. And I can’t worry about Trevel right now.

I need to see Felix.

Picking up the walkie talkie I got from the begrudging control room operators, I switch it on and click to the guards’ main channel.

“This is Dr. Love. Someone please bring Felix Darcey to my office for an hour session.”

Pulling up my recorder app on my work phone, I get settled in my leather chair, and only ten minutes of thrumming in place later, there’s a knock at my door.

It swings open and in shuffles my shackled patient. No straitjacket this time. Peters removes everything and I feel Felix exhaling a long, breathy sigh as he rubs his wrists, stepping farther into the room.

Officer Peters mumbles, “One hour.” Then leaves, closing the door behind him.

My eyes are glued to Felix, his tall frame draped in drab colors and stiff fabrics. But then I see a red line at the waist of his pants and I remember the boxers I got for him. Of course, I didn’t physically pick them out or anything. I asked Kent to get the nicest boxer briefs he could find. And then yesterday in the shower, I see Felix wearing a yellow pair of Calvin Klein’s.

Really, Kent? Yellow??

It’s not something I ever would have chosen myself, since I’m not known for my overly flashy wardrobe. But I have to admit, they looked good on Felix. Though I think I prefer the dark red ones he has on now. They better suit his creamy complexion.

Shaking myself out of my wayward thoughts, I press record on my phone screen. “Felix.” He jumps at the sound of my voice, which is interesting, giving me this sort of doe-eyed expression, to which I lift my brows. “Come sit.”

His head wobbles subtly. “Oh right. Sorry…” He wanders over, having a seat on the couch across from me.

I can’t help the way I’m scrutinizing his every expression, considering how he feels about what Templeton did to him. And it makes no sense, but I find myself attached to the idea that he hated the experience, when in reality, I could be the one overthinking it.

Maybe he enjoyed himself… He got off, after all. Though that seemed to me like more of an inevitable physical reaction.

Stowing that for later, I decide to get him warmed up a little. “So… how are you feeling?”

His dark eyelashes flutter behind his glasses. “I’m okay.”

“Felix.” My face slants. “You should know by now that there’s no point in telling me what you think I want to hear. The pressure from society to always answer good when someone asks how you’re doing doesn’t interest me. I want to know exactly and precisely how you are feeling.”

His lips part, but nothing comes out while he gapes at me. He certainly seems a bit off, and I don’t think this isn’t me projecting after what I just watched. Even the Felix Darcey part of him—the more insecure, timid part—is usually more forthcoming. At least he was getting there with me.

And the idea that those doctors and their errant experiments may have ruined the work I’ve been putting in with Felix since I got here makes me so angry I have to momentarily squeeze my hand into a fist to overcome it.

“Okay. Fine.” Felix settles into his seat. “I’m tired. I didn’t sleep well last night. And I’m hungry, since I haven’t eaten anything in like twelve hours, and I’m pissed off because…” His voice trails and I witness his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

It reminds me of the video. The way he slowly swallowed, eyelids drooping, head leaning back as he succumbed to the sensations Templeton was forcing on him.

I shift in my seat. “Tell me.” My voice comes out quietly insistent.

“I don’t like the experiments,” he whispers, then tugs his lower lip between his teeth. “They’re confusing… And I don’t like being confused. I don’t like being forced to give up control. I hate it, actually. If I’m giving it up by choice, I guess that would be one thing, but having a bunch of assholes disrupt my evening and treat me like an object…”

I scoot forward in my seat, but say nothing. I don’t know if I should speak right now. The things I’m thinking won’t be helpful to him. Or me.

Still, our eyes remain locked while he tells me, “I know it’s hypocritical. I’m not a fool. I know this is what I deserve. But still, I can’t help feeling like they’re trying to modify me in some way, and that’s irritating. That’s why I like talking to you…”

His words surprise me, and my brows slope on their own. “Do you…”

He nods enthusiastically. “Yea. I mean, at least you understand that this is who I am. I was born this way.” He pauses and gives me an almost pleading look. “You do believe that, right, Doc?”

I consider his question for a moment. I want to give him the best possible answer.

“Do I believe there are aspects of your life, your past, your upbringing that have shaped you? Of course. We can’t deny the nurture to our nature, but that’s just it. They’re both valid parts of what makes us us. That said, I also happen to believe that your chemistry developed around those factors in a way that’s specific to you. Other people could have experienced the same things as you, but would have dealt with it differently.”

The room is quiet for a moment before his lips twist. “You’re so extra. You could have just said yes.”

I physically can’t help the way my mouth twitches. It’s bizarre. “I thought you wanted the shrink answer.”

He tosses his head back and lets out a laugh that warms me inside. I’m baffled by this reaction I’m having. I’ve never cared about making someone laugh before, but when Felix does it, and I’m the cause, it’s like some great feat.

It’s probably just because he’s a sociopath. I suppose anyone would be excited to entertain someone who lacks so many basic human emotions.

Getting us back on track, I say, “So you’re unhappy today.”

“I was, yea.” He gives me a curious look, then bites his lip again.

My head sways at him. “But not anymore?”

He shakes his. “Not so much. Now I’m just hungry.”

“Right.” I sigh. “Always hungry, it seems.”

His shoulder lifts. “Well, what do you expect? They don’t feed us for shit.”

This is only the zillionth time he’s complained to me about being hungry. And that triggers an idea.

Grabbing my work phone, which is still recording, I pull up a text to Kent.

“What are you doing?” Felix asks, scooting forward like he wants to look at my phone screen.

“Stay put,” I rumble at him while texting, and he retreats in his seat, sitting patiently.

Once I’m done, I place the phone back down and look up to find him sitting on his hands, wiggling in place. He seems like he has some excess energy that needs to be burned as well.

Maybe I’ll try to organize some recreational time for him.

“I would like to get back to your earlier kills at some point, but for right now, I want you to tell me about your most recent kill. Ivan Wilkerson.”

Felix nods. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, let’s start with why specifically you killed him.”

He gives me a look, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Because he was there.”

That answer gives me chills. It’s so indicative of him as a killer. He’s an anomaly, after all. The perfect combination of product and process, with such wildly varying choices as far as his victims go.

Some were his lovers, some were men he despised. Some reminded him of his father, others his ideal plaything.

The word fascinating is getting old, and it doesn’t even scratch the surface of Felix Darcey.

“But you know there was another reason.” I inch forward. “I heard you were begging for a cellmate. Was that just so you could kill him?”

Felix reclines on the couch. “I think the fact that I would kill whomever they put in my cell was inevitable. But I killed that asshole Wilkerson because he was a piece of shit. You know he was raping young boys and girls for years, right? And the last one actually died…” He scoffs and shakes his head. “Wilkerson deserved to die. So having him delivered to my cell was like kismet. It was what the universe wanted.”

Wow. There’s so much to unpack here. I could pick apart that statement alone for weeks.

Attempting to stow my giddiness, I ask, “What were you aiming for with his carving?”

“I wanted to make him look like he was pouting, because he was really fucking whiny.” He grins. “He was another one of those I’m innocent types. And then, after I found out what he’d done, I was kind of appalled. To harm a child and then claim innocence… I mean, I’m not saying I’m the perfect monster or anything, but even I wouldn’t do that.”

I blink at him a few times. “You draw the line at children.”

“And old people.” He nods. “I’m not here to fuck with those who can’t even defend themselves. Some of my favorite victims were child abusers.”

I can’t help but find what he’s saying sort of commendable. We all know murder isn’t right, but society is certainly a better place without the Ivan Wilkersons of the world.

That said, I know there’s more to this… The reason he’s so quick to kill people who harm children, and add them to his list of victims, the rest of which is made up of other people’s children.

How do you go from killing Emmanuel Pedroia to Ivan Wilkerson? It’s like night and day.

I barely even notice that I’m frantically scribbling all of this down in my notebook. But a knock at the door pulls me out of my zone. “Come in.”

Kent appears in the doorway holding two paper bags, and I tell him to leave them on the table, which he does, stalking away without a word.

Felix’s face is lit up like a neon sign, obviously because of the smell that’s suddenly swimming around us. “Is that Chinese food??”

I nod. “Open up the bags and take everything out. We’re going to eat and talk today.”

“Holy fucking shit.” He practically leaps over the table, grabbing at the bags, tearing into them like a wild animal.

My mouth quirks at the sight, before I force a frown because what the hell is happening to me?? These errant smiles are more than peculiar.

Felix goes about his business, removing a few plastic containers of Chinese food. It was prepared by the Warden’s chefs, but I had some last night and it was delicious, so I can vouch for their abilities.

He opens one up—it looks like orange chicken with bok choy and white rice—and immediately digs in, making some severely appreciative noises. He’s groaning while eating, and I can’t help how it reminds me of the video I saw earlier. Though these sounds seem much happier.

Reaching over, I pick up a container of Kung Pao shrimp and a fork, watching Felix all the while as he practically inhales the food.

“This is amazing,” he grumbles when he finally comes up for air. “Thank you.”

There’s some orange sauce on his lower lip that’s distracting me as I mutter, “I’ll give your compliments to the chef.”

He stares at me while his tongue slides and laps up the sauce. I focus on my food, taking a bite.

“Tell me more about your inclinations,” I ask, in more of a command.

But he does, without a second thought. “I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that not all of my victims were my boyfriends.” He takes another bite while I nod subtly, doing the same. “Well, the lot of my victims who were died because they wanted to leave me. The first person who ever left me was… Cam.” He swallows visibly after uttering the name.

I lift my brow, encouraging him to go on.

“Cameron Kline. He was my best friend growing up, and the first boy I ever loved. I was secretly into him, since I was still young and figuring my shit out. But Cam was like… perfect. He was just everything I wanted in a boyfriend. He was smart, and sweet, and outgoing. The opposite of me in a lot of ways.”

“Sounds familiar…” I mumble, calling him out with a look.

He huffs a laugh. “Yea, he was like Emmanuel. Like most of the guys I dated. Clearly, I have a type.” He chuckles, then takes another bite.

“Okay… but tell me about the others.”

His amusement falls away. “Right. My other victims, the ones I didn’t sleep with, or engage with sexually, for the most part… well, they were like Wilkerson. Maybe not all that heinous, but they were modeled after someone who was. Someone despicable, who definitely deserved to die for what he did… What he took from me.”

Felix’s eyes turn dark, and a glimpse of that rage he holds deep within shows itself. His entire demeanor changes, and he actually gains this menacing air about him. It’s a withering aura, and it glues me to my seat. That’s The Carver.

I expect him to tell me who he’s referring to, but he doesn’t. And I don’t want to push, but I’m dying to know. So I ask, “And who would that be?”

He stares off into space for a full minute. Dead eyes aimed at the wall. It’s like no one’s home. Felix is gone.

I’m desperate to see what he’s seeing in his head right now.

But eventually he kicks back to life and takes another bite. “Did you know that Chinese is my favorite food?”

I’m not surprised by the subject change. And I pick up my notebook, jotting down a reminder to circle back to the conversation. “How would I know that?”

He shrugs casually. “You know so much about me, but not really the stuff I like. Other than killing people, I guess.”

“Well, Felix, if you feel like your other interests will help this process, then by all means. Spill.”

He scoops the remains of his dish into his mouth, then sets the empty container down. “I love eighties music. In fact, I always had to blast music while I was cleaning up after myself, and my favorite bands to play were Tears For Fears and Depeche Mode.”

My fingers twitch. Those are my favorite bands.

What is this kid in his twenties doing listening to that music??

I want to ask him, but I don’t. I ignore the urge, because it feels too personal, and I need to stay on track. He’s becoming far too intriguing to me. I need to stay focused on the work.

Sitting back, I make a snap decision to launch an experiment of my own. “What else could I get for you, Felix?”

His forehead lines. “Huh?”

“I got you the boxers, Chinese food… What else would you like? Tell me, if you weren’t the prisoner in the room right now, what would you be doing?”

His eyes widen and visibly sparkle, his fingers digging into the velvet of the couch. I’m even more curious now about what’s running through his mind, because it looks like there are endless possibilities shimmering in his gray irises.

He shifts and clears his throat, breaking our eye contact to look around the room.

Then he says, “I want to look at Kieran O’Malley’s file.”

I must say, I’m surprised and intrigued by his choice. I don’t know Kieran O’Malley at all, but I do know that he’s the poor sap Johansson and his clique have been going to town on with their techniques. Felix must know him from them both being in the East Wing for a while.

Without any further thought, I nod to the right. “The keys to the file cabinet are on my desk. His file is in the top drawer.”

Felix blinks at me, clearly stunned by the turn of events in today’s session. But he wastes no time jumping up and darting across the room. I swivel to watch him as he gets the keys, opens the file cabinet, and rifles through eagerly. He pulls the folder out and immediately begins reading it, absentmindedly leaning up on my desk as he does.

Just watching him is the most interesting thing on its own. The way he looks, so theoretically normal, but knowing what he’s done… It’s like looking at a Barbie pink Derringer.

You’d never know it could blow your head off.

“I knew it!” Felix gasps and I stand up, wandering over to him. He looks up at me. “That prick and his holier than thou attitude.” He scoffs and shakes his head, going back to the file. “He drowned his little brother in the bathtub, then hid the body for four days.”

I step closer, inching over, watching his features closely while he absorbs this information that’s apparently important to him.

“He’s just like me,” he whispers, his eyes sliding up to mine once more.

Our gazes stick together like magnets. The gray behind those glasses… It’s mesmerizing.

“But he killed a child,” I speak softly. Felix nods. “You wouldn’t do that.” He shakes his head.

“I hate people who do that,” he mumbles, his eyes falling to my mouth.

My teeth set.

“How does that make you feel, Felix?” I ask him, reaching out slowly and taking the file from his hands. He lets go of it willingly, no longer paying any attention to the folder.

“I want to kill him,” he says with certainty and sincerity. The anger isn’t there. Not yet. It’s more like he’s stating a fact. His truth.

I give him a small nod, then slide around where he’s standing. I hear him suck in his breath, and I pretend I don’t notice.

Reaching down, right by where he’s leaning, I pull open my desk drawer and take out the set of keys I was given, to all the doors in the East Wing.

I dangle them on my finger, and Felix swallows visibly as I ask him, “Is this what you want?”

The wideness of his eyes, the glittering gray, like storm clouds over the ocean… The craving I can see in them is like a salivation. An absolute hunger.

Felix nods. And so, I hold out the keys to him.

This is my form of experiment. This is what will teach me more about the monster in front of me.

Maybe that makes me just as evil as him, who knows. But I’m willing to take that chance. Because the fact is that I can’t stop wondering what might happen if Felix Darcey were to be left alone in the same confined space as this man whose blood he craves, Kieran O’Malley.

Opening the lion’s cage while he’s hungry…

It’s a temptation I can’t ignore.

If I weren’t so sure of where I am, and what I’m doing in this moment, I might think I’m tripping on acid.

I actually consider, very briefly, that maybe Dr. Love drugged my food.

But then I remember he’s no quacky, self-righteous asshole like Johansson or Templeton. Dr. Love is smart. He’s patient, and he stows his eagerness with a control unlike anything I’ve seen before. He sort of reminds me of a chess player, only instead of the black and white pieces, he’s playing with me.

Honestly, I don’t hate it.

My eyes linger on the keys he’s holding out in front of me. It’s a large ring, with at least two dozen keys on it. And he hasn’t said so outright, but he doesn’t need to. I already know those are the keys to the East Wing. To the cells, the exam rooms, mostly likely all the doors.

I can physically feel myself vibrating with the intense desire to grab them and run out the door. It’s strange, though. I don’t think I want to take these keys and use them to escape, though I very well could. Sure, this place is a maze, but I’ve been walked around enough hallways down here to know which ones lead where. I know that just beyond where we are right now, past I think one or two more corridors, there’s a door that leads out into the woods. A side-entrance, if you will. I’m sure these keys could get me through the necessary doors to get out there.

But here’s the thing… Dr. Love is not stupid. He knows he’s handing me a potential escape. He also knows I want to kill Kieran O’Malley, because I just told him.

I think he’s testing me.

He’s baiting me, to see if I’ll take these keys and accept the gift he’s giving me: O’Malley on a silver platter. Or if I’ll be a boring cliche and use the opportunity to break free.

I won’t say the urge to get the fuck out of here isn’t strong. It is.

But what’s out there for me, anyway? More of the inevitable? Running for the rest of my life. More hiding. More invisible…

In here, I’m not invisible. In here, I’m special. The highest of all high-profile inmates, and Manuel Blanco’s treasured possession.

Out there, I’m just Felix Darcey. But in here, I’m The Carver.

My hand reaches out slowly and takes the keys from Dr. Love. Our fingers brush and chills sheet my skin. I hope he can’t tell that I’m sniffing him, but I totally am, because he’s so close to me and he smells fantastic. I have no idea what it is, but his scent is a million times more delicious than the smell of the food.

Snapping myself out of it, I close my fist around the set of keys, hiding them in my hand. Dr. Love gives me one of his curious looks I’ve come to know and enjoy. It’s a look that says, you’re fucking crazy, and I find it so damn interesting.

My lips part, but my words are jumbled in the back of my throat. I’m not sure what I would say at a time like this…

Regardless of how often I’ve heard him tell Joy and Velle that he was given free rein of this prison by the Warden himself, I have to assume The Ivory doesn’t want me with these keys. Just a guess, but I’d think it might bother him a tad.

Yet Dr. Love gave them to me anyway, without more than a moment’s thought. Maybe it’s just for the test, or his own personal experiment, but in my mind, it also means he cares about me.

He’s giving me yet another gift. First the book, then the boxers… Chinese food followed by the scrumptious dessert of slaughtering my nemesis?

I’m beginning to feel like I owe him something in return.

The thought is cut off by a quick knock on the door.

I know right away that it’s Peters, even before he whips the door open and stomps inside. My heart is flying in my chest while I quickly stuff the keys into the waistband of my boxers and roll it up once to make sure they keep quiet while the C.O. hovers by the doorway.

“Let’s go, #89,” he grumbles impatiently.

I take a second with my eyes lingering on Dr. Love’s, telepathically showing him my baffled appreciation at this elaborate gift before slowly wandering over to where Peters is tapping his foot, shackles already in hand. My gaze stays with Dr. Love while I’m chained up, and he just stares back at me, giving me that same aloof look, completely unruffled by the huge middle finger he just gave to Alabaster Pen protocol.

Peters drags me out of the room, yanking to get me walking. But my eyes stay on Dr. Love until he’s out of sight.

This is nuts.

Even I need to acknowledge how batshit crazy he must be to give a serial killer keys to the prison. Although, these keys only work down here in the East. The doors up in general population are controlled by the control room guards and servers and such. Actually, come to think of it, I believe there’s a control room for the East Wing, too. Glancing up, I see the cameras in the corners, monitoring the hallways.

If I do anything at all with these keys, it will all be monitored. Meaning I won’t have much time.

I’m jittery as hell while Peters brings me inside my padded cell, removing my stuff and locking the door behind me. I stand completely still in the middle of the room until I hear his footsteps disappear. And then I pull the keys out of my pants.

Holding them in my hands, I look them over slowly, running my thumb over the metal. It’s like I’m holding on to hundreds of possibilities, right in the palm of my sullied hand. I haven’t felt this alive in a while… Not even when killing Wilkerson.

This is different. I told Kieran he would see what happens when we’re face to face.

These keys are my invitation to make that happen.

Stomping up to the door, I pause, glancing over my shoulder. My book is still resting right where I left it in the corner. My lips curve into a knowing smirk. He promised me no one would touch my book… He made that happen, too.

I try three keys in my door until I find the one that unlocks it. Peering out into the hallway, I hear nothing but quiet, wishing I had the slightest clue what time it is. It could be midnight for all I know. But I think Dr. Love holds our sessions during the day, so if I were to guess, I’d say early afternoon…? Really, who knows.

I suck in a breath and step tentatively out into the hall. And once I’m out there, I look around. Part of me expects Velle to dive around the corner and tackle me the second I leave my cell. But he’s not here. No one is.

So I shrug to myself and wander the corridor. I’m on a mission as I make my way to the exam rooms. I go straight to the one they usually put me in, on the end, and open the door, striding inside.

It’s strange to be in here with no cuffs or shackles or straitjacket. I’m in here of my own volition, which is certainly a first. But there’s something I need, and I think this might be the place to find it…

Hurrying to the cabinets along the wall behind the exam chair, I tug on the drawers. They’re locked. I try the smallest key on my keyring, and it works right away. Jackpot.

Pulling open the drawers, I’m immediately part intrigued, part appalled by what I find. It’s the fleshlight and dildo they used on me the other day, along with lube, condoms, and a bunch of other devices I don’t have time to sift through. This must be the sex drawer.

Rolling my eyes, I slam it shut before pulling open the next. My jaw drops as I reach inside and pick up what looks like a cock cage. A chill runs through me as I hold the metal device in my hand.

No time for this.

I drop it back in amongst nipple clamps, candles, a ball-gag, and some other sharp, scary-looking items. I can’t help the way I gulp. This must be the pain drawer.

I’m becoming frustrated as I rifle through the drawers, looking for the perfect object. I find a few tools I could get away with using, but they’re not what I want. Crouching down, I unlock a padlock around some cupboard doors with a different small key. There are a lot of cleaning supplies in here; bleach, ammonia, lye, things like that. There are also packs upon packs of syringes and hypodermic needles. And in the way back, I spot a black leather case.

Pulling it out, I run my fingers over the monogram on the front.

AA

At first, I think maybe it’s for Alcoholics Anonymous or something, but when I open it, I dispel that idea.

It’s a butterfly knife.

My eyes light right up. This is exactly what I was looking for.

Removing it from the case, I observe the handle. It’s white and iridescent, almost like a pearl, but not as shiny. And there’s a little symbol carved into it. Taking a closer look, I see that it’s a bird surrounded by barbed wire.

Something about it tickles my stomach.

Pushing past it, I flick open the knife. The blade is so sharp, my mouth begins to water.

Perfect.

I close it and tuck it into my pants, locking everything back up. Leaving the room, I make a beeline up the hall, back to the row of padded cells.

My mind is clear, and my muscles are tight, sights zoned in and focused on the steps I’m taking. I know this is exactly what I’m meant to do, in this moment.

I’m on the exact path given to me by the universe. Because I’m an agent of chaos, and now it’s time to play.

Marching up to the cell right next to mine, I peer inside the small plexiglass window. And sure enough, there’s Kieran O’Malley, sitting on the floor with his head in his hands.

I know my time is limited, but still, I take a moment to watch him. He looks devastated, a vast difference from the angry aggressor I encountered in the cafeteria that day. And I know it’s because of what they’ve been putting him through. Where the experiments on me have seemingly been just for research purposes, with Kieran they’ve been going at him like they’re trying to fix him. Like they want to cut out the piece of him that makes him who he is, then sew him back up.

Thinking about it makes me itchy inside.

I remember what I told Dr. Love earlier… About how I felt like the experiments were being used to modify me. But I don’t need to be fixed. I don’t want to be.

The world needs people like us. The evil to balance out the good. The monsters under their beds, the fear. Fear is important, after all. It reminds us that we’re alive.

Humanity needs to condemn the wicked to feel like they’re in control and make themselves the hero. It’s fine. I’ve accepted my part in this.

I’m the bad guy. I can’t be fixed, and neither can Kieran O’Malley.

At that moment, his hands slide off his face, and he looks up.

The expression he’s wearing is actually pretty funny. He looks confused as hell that I’m standing outside of his cell. I give him a quick brow raise as if to as, May I? Though I’m obviously not waiting for him to give me permission. And I use the key to unlock the door. Wouldn’t you know… It’s the same one that opened my door.

One key for all these doors… Isn’t that foolhardy?

Opening it, I meander inside and close it behind me, leaning up against it for a second while I bask in this position. My pulse is jumping in anticipation, saliva gathering in my mouth at a rapid rate.

I’m thirsty, Kieran.

“What the fuck are yeh doing here?” he asks, standing up slowly.

“I came to visit you.” I grin at him, my fingers twitching at my sides.

He narrows his gaze, but doesn’t respond. I hold up the keys for a second, jingling them before tossing them into the corner of the cell. His eyes move with them, then they come back to mine. He takes a step toward them, but so do I, blocking him.

“What do yeh want, psycho?” he breathes, puffing himself up a bit, like he’s trying to show me that he could easily defend himself against me.

I’m sure he can, but it won’t matter. I’m not leaving this room without getting what I came for.

“I just wanted to tell you that I get it.” I take a step forward.

“Get what?” He huffs, brow creased in his state of confusion.

“I understand how you feel.” I keep talking, calmly, while taking another step closer.

“You don’t understand shit,” he hisses. “Get the fuck out of my cell before I fuck yeh up.”

I drift forward once more. There are only a few feet separating us. “No, I do, Kieran. I know how it feels to be confused by what you’ve done. To feel for a moment like there’s no possible way you could have done it.”

His face sort of drops, his mask of rage slipping just an inch.

“You don’t know what yer talking about,” he mutters. “I’m nothing like you.”

Those words tickle my stomach, and a rush of excitement pumps inside my chest like adrenaline. I stroll even closer.

“But you did do it, Kieran,” I go on. “You know you did. And so, you can be like the rest of them… The other boring, delusional ones who maintained their innocence until the end. Who never owned up to who they are… who we all are. Or you can fucking admit it.” I sidle up to him, close enough that our toes are touching. “You’re a killer, Kieran. And you like it.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls in my face, anger bubbling, swirling up with his denial in a way that visibly takes over his features. His eyes are dark, pale skin shadowed with lines of hatred.

“You killed your brother,” I whisper with my face inches from his. “Timmy. You murdered him and you hid his body for four days.”

I can see his jaw clenching, feel the wrath pouring off of him in waves.

But I keep pushing. “And you can rationalize it in your head. You do it all day every day, don’t you? He was bothering you… He wouldn’t stop crying or whining, or you were jealous of the attention he got…”

He flinches. “No. No, I didn’t—”

“Or maybe he found out something about you… saw something he wasn’t supposed to see.” I keep prodding, egging him on with my words. “I mean, he was young, but still. You couldn’t take that chance. You couldn’t let him tell people what you did…”

“You’re fucking wrong,” he seethes, the pain in his eyes so vibrant it’s like a shade of red, brighter than fresh blood.

“No, I’m not,” I snap. “You want me to be. You wish like hell I was wrong, but I’m not. I’m speaking what’s inside you, Kieran. I’m speaking what you already know.” My face inches closer, until our noses are almost touching. My eyes fall to his lips briefly. “You killed your brother because you wanted to. Because you needed to.”

He’s shaking. Vibrating so hard I can feel it.

“You killed a child, Kieran. Someone who was innocent. And you enjoyed the fuck out of it.” My head tilts with our heated gazes glued together as I whisper, “Which means I’m nothing like you.”

O’Malley roars out loud and lunges.

He grabs me by the throat and shoves me backward until my back connects with the wall. “You fucking psycho fuck! I’ll fucking kill you!”

I grin, an uncontrollable chuckle leaving my lips while he digs his fingers into my windpipe, cutting off my airflow.

“You think yer so fucking smart, don’t yeh?” he snarls in my face, pressing harder. “You think you know everything?? Well, you couldn’t be more wrong! Timmy made me do it. He put me in that position I didn’t want to be in! Always looking at me with those big eyes, reminding me that he was perfect, and I was nothing. Reminding me that I’m a bastard, and his father is still around. That my own mother loves him more than me. He was begging for it! I didn’t have a fucking choice but to push his head under… And it only took a minute or so, but I held him under for five more because he made me do it!”

Blood is rushing in my ears, almost drowning out his heinous confession. But still, I can hear him. I can see him finally telling the fucking truth, and I can’t stop laughing. I’m laughing while he’s choking me, and it feels fantastic.

I’m not sure why… I’m not sure I’ll ever understand. But there’s a significant thrill in my loins right now with my oxygen being cut off and this angry lunatic’s hand around my throat.

I think my dick is hard.

I laugh even harder.

“Shut the fuck up!” he barks in my face. “Stop laughing! They wouldn’t understand, just like you don’t! Yer all a bunch of eejits!”

I lick my lips, eyes going hazy as my body struggles to take in a breath. My back arches off the wall.

“You want me to kill you, don’t yeh?” He hovers over my lips. I shake my head as much as I can manage, and he frowns. “Why not?” More laughter bubbles, sounding like coughs more than anything. “Because it doesn’t get me rock hard like it does you…” He grinds his hips forward on mine and my dick twitches. “Say goodnight, psycho. I’m taking yer last breath…”

Just as my vision is swirling, I reach into my pants and grab the butterfly knife.

And a moan leaves my lips while I whip it open at my side.

O’Malley’s eyes catch sight of it, and they widen just as I’m plunging the blade into his side.

“Fuck,” he grunts, his grip on my throat loosening.

The much-needed surge of air I’m pulling in fast gets me high. And my laughter grows more maniacal as I tug the knife out, then stab it back in. Then again. And again.

He stumbles backward, then crashes onto the floor, clutching his bleeding abdomen. But I jump on top of him, cackling and stabbing, over and over and over. The sounds of me gasping in between hoarse laughter, and the slice slice slice of the blade cutting into him repeatedly ring through the room, bouncing off the padded walls.

“One thing you should know about me, Kieran,” I wail, eyes staying with his while they bulge in shock, fear, and pain. “I love being right.”

I lift the knife, then flick my wrist, slicing his throat wide open, deep, from ear to ear.

He coughs, blood spraying out of his mouth all over my face. Sucking in a long breath, I hold it to calm myself down and control my chaotic laughter. I writhe into him, digging the sharp blade into the mess formerly known as his torso while he gives up his last breath. His frantic glare softens, and release washes over his now dead eyes.

He’s gone.

“Goodbye, Kieran,” I sigh, wiping a few strands of hair out of my eyes. I’m sure smearing more blood on my face, but I don’t mind.

In fact, I love it.

Gulping saliva down my sore throat, I glance at my clothes, finding them soaked with blood. The formerly bland gray wardrobe is now stained deep maroon. I bite my lip, tasting the copper of O’Malley’s blood.

I can’t help how I slump forward for a moment as the wave of tingles washes over me.

That was a good one. God, I’m fucking high.

I feel like a junkie who just took a much-needed hit.

The sticky red coats me everywhere, pooling all over the floor of the cell. The entire room reeks of copper. But I like it.

“Because I’m a monster,” I whisper to my dead friend. “Just like you.”

Sitting up straight, still straddling Kieran’s lifeless form, I observe his face. My fingers run along the pale flesh, now spattered with blood. And I take my new favorite knife ever, using it to carve him up. I give him a wide smile that goes all the way up to his cheekbones. The knife is so sharp and the cuts so deep, his upper lip is barely hanging on anymore. But it works. Then I cut out his tongue, which I don’t do all the time, but I think for Kieran it makes sense.

“Looks like we finally shut you up.” I beam.

A noise grabs my attention, and I freeze. Listening closely, I prepare myself for Velle to burst open the door and kick my ass. But he doesn’t. The sound disappears, meaning it was probably just someone up the hall somewhere.

I let out a long breath of relief. “Gotta go, buddy.” I press a kiss on his forehead then stand up on legs shaky like jelly.

Wandering out of the room, I’m in a daze. I don’t even remember picking up the keys or letting myself out of the cell, but I guess I did because the next thing I know, I’m at the other end of the corridor, heading for the door that brings you toward that side exit, when I hear a noise. It sounds like someone is in one of these cells, which lingers in my head for a moment. Of course there are other inmates down here. Not many, and I never really see them, but still. They’re here.

Maybe they want to come with me. Wherever I’m going.

I’m shuffling in my post-kill trance as I check the small windows to the cells. The first two are empty. But I hear a sniffle from the one on the end, and when I peek inside the small square, my heart does a little thud.

It’s Dash.

I stroll inside the cell, wondering if he’s really here right now. Is this a dream?

I can barely see through the blood spatter on my glasses, so I remove them and try wiping them on my shirt. But it’s so soaked in sticky red, it just smears them more.

“Here. Wipe them on me.” Dash steps forward, offering me his clean white straitjacket to wipe my glasses.

A smirk tugs at my lips, and I do it, wiping the lenses off. He’s such a sweetheart. “Thanks.”

“Is that… your blood?” he asks quietly.

I take a moment to observe him. Even in the severely unflattering light of these cells, he’s beautiful. In like an obvious kind of way; a way that’s undeniable.

His hazel eyes are wide as I mumble, “It’s always my blood.”

I don’t know if he understands what I’m saying, but he looks tired and I get it. I hope they haven’t been experimenting on him, too.

Then the realization dawns on me. It breaks through my daze like a ray of sunshine through the storm clouds.

I have the keys. I could let him out.

Reaching into my pants for my trusty butterfly knife, I open it and Dash shakes his head.

“Darcey… don’t,” he mumbles in a worried tone, trying to step back.

“Stay still,” I command him, annoyed that he thinks I would hurt him. Doesn’t he know I like him so much??

I use the knife to cut through his straitjacket, not about to go through the whole process of un-lacing it. Dash wiggles his way free, stretching his arms out with a soft sigh that sounds good to my ears.

“Thank you,” he breathes.

“Don’t mention it.”

I watch him as he watches me for a moment. And then, in a sort of fluttering motion, he scampers to the door of the cell and peers out into the hall. “Darcey, I’m getting the fuck out of here.” He turns to gape at me. “You can come.”

I’m flattered that he’s offering. And for all of three seconds, I imagine escaping Alabaster Penitentiary with Dash. I think about us on the run together…

But something strange happens. And a certain tall, burly doctor with perfect dreadlocks and eyes the color of a blazing campfire pops into my head.

I can’t leave. This is where I belong.

“No thanks,” I hum. “I’ll stay for a bit. I want to see how this goes.”

“Alright, well, I’m out. Do those keys open that door out there?”

The door I was going to open before I found him.

I’m not meant to go that way. I’m meant to go back.

“You take ’em.” I hand Dash the keys.

“Thanks.” He pauses. “What size shoe do you wear?”

My eyes fall to our feet and I notice that he has no shoes on. Chuckling, I step out of my sneakers, giving them to him as well. He’ll need them more than me.

“Thanks again, Darcey,” Dash says in a friendly tone. He blinks his hazel eyes at me, reminding me so much of Cameron it hurts my chest for a second.

But I guess this is the moment I never got with Cam. I never got to say goodbye, because of his asshole father, and the circumstances surrounding his leaving.

And maybe Cam and I never would have worked. Maybe we’re like Dash and me… Better as friends.

“You’re welcome, Dash.” I wave at him. “Don’t forget us.”

Don’t forget me.

“Oh, I won’t.” He flashes me a bright, gorgeous smile—just like Cam would—and waves back.

And then he’s gone.

I stand in the same spot for minutes, staring at the open door. I could just sit down. Wait for one of the guards to find me here, or the control room to report what’s happened to Velle. It’s inevitable, after all. That’s what my staying means. That I’ll have to face the repercussions of my actions.

And so will Dr. Love.

At the mention of him in my mind, my feet move on their own. I walk out of the cell into the hallway, and then I’m on a mission. My steps are light but determined as I stalk the corridors. Only a minute or so later, I’m standing outside his office.

Taking in a breath to steady my suddenly racing pulse, I lift my hand and knock. I hear him walking to the door, and when he opens it, my stomach twists into a knot.

His amber eyes actually widen as he looks me over. His pupils dilate, and my breathing shallows.

“I’m here,” I whisper, shivering under his intense gaze. “I’m… I’m still here.”

Something strange passes over his features. His brows slope together and his lips part. But he doesn’t speak.

Instead, he grabs me by the arm and pushes past me out of his office, dragging me along with him. He’s walking fast, and I’m stumbling to keep up while he tugs me, like a puppy on a leash. His hand is around my wrist and I’m not sure why, but it feels incredible.

“W-where are we going?” I ask stupidly, and of course he doesn’t answer. But after walking for a few moments, I realize we’re rushing in the direction of the showers.

When we get there, he brings me inside and closes the door behind us. Now that he’s let go of me, I’m just hovering in place while he stares. I don’t know what to think, or what he’s thinking, but his gaze is more intense than I’ve ever seen it.

He stalks toward me, and I back up, like an instinct.

“Felix,” he growls my name. It zips up my spine like a harsh chill.

And then it settles in my balls.

He’s still coming at me, and now we’re directly in the shower area. I back up into the wall and he follows me, crowding me until there are only a few inches between us. I gulp, my heart racing and my limbs trembling while his broad chest moves with visibly sturdy breaths.

“Tell me what you did,” he demands, pupils blown out. “Tell me everything.”

My lashes flutter at him, parted lips trembling. His masculine scent surrounds me, that mixed with the lingering stale copper on my clothes. It clenches my stomach, like the first drop of a roller coaster.

“I killed him.” I try my hardest to project over a voice that wants to shake. “I… stabbed him. Like, a lot.”

“Kieran O’Malley?” he asks. And then he reaches out and touches the blood-soaked fabric of my shirt.

I gulp again and nod. “Yes.”

“Did you carve him?” Dr. Love pauses with the bottom hem of my shirt between his fingers. And then he lifts it.

He brings my shirt up over my head, tossing it off to the side. I’m topless now in front of him, and even though it’s not that cold down here, my nipples are all bunched up, goosebumps sheeting my flesh.

His eyes slip from mine down to my exposed torso, and I do the same. There are smears of blood on my skin which must have soaked through my clothes. Our eyes lift at the same time and we stare at each other. There’s very little air in the room, and it’s making me dizzy.

“Answer me, Felix,” he insists, his deep voice settling low in my belly.

I nod quickly. “I did. I carved him.” He makes a soft rumbling noise, and my dick stiffens. “I cut out his tongue.”

Dr. Love’s jaw visibly tenses as he moves in so close to me, we’re almost zipped together. He places his palm flat on my chest, covering my heart, our eyes stuck together all the while. At the feel of his warm skin on mine, my eyes briefly droop shut and an uncontrollable moan rumbles in the back of my throat.

“How did it feel?” he asks, his usual stern tone ensconced in some morbid obsession that sings like lust.

But there’s no way…

Not only does this man come off as tragically straight, but he’s also a robot. All the flashes of emotion I’ve seen on him were just that. But this is different. He seems enraptured by this…

Me. The monster.

The killer.

He likes it.

Pushing myself farther into his touch, I mumble, “I was high.” He nods subtly. “I still am.”

“Are you?” He cups my pectoral, the warmth of his palm soothing my nipple. I whimper, nodding quickly.

“Yes. Killing Kieran felt… so good. Like it was what I was meant to do.” My eyes take in the face of this strange, sexy doctor. I can barely breathe around him, and the idea that he could be in any way affected by me too has my heart jumping wildly against his palm. “Thank you.”

“For what…” he mumbles one of his non-question questions, before removing his hand from my chest. I don’t even have time to be bummed about it, though.

He shoves my pants down.

A gasp flees my lips. “For giving him to me.”

“Do you think that’s what I was doing?” His voice rumbles into me. “Take them off.”

I’m nervous about removing my pants. He’s totally going to see my erection, which isn’t completely full, but it’s getting there. Still, I don’t think I could ignore a command of his if I wanted to. So I push my pants down the rest of the way, kicking them off. And now I’m standing before him in only my boxers and socks.

“I’d like to think so,” I answer his question.

His intense eyes bore into me. “Why?”

“Because you get me.” I shiver. “I want you to… get me.”

Something flashes, but he covers it up. “Why is it so important that I get you?”

My head shakes a little. I don’t want to straight up say because you remind me of my father. That’s way too real, especially while my dick is hard.

But he knows the answer, anyway. He’s just toying with me right now.

So I decide to take it a step further. And I slide down my boxers.

Dr. Love’s gaze stays stuck to mine as I kick off my red Calvins, and I want to believe that it’s with some effort. He doesn’t allow his eyes to fall to my dick. Maybe it’s because he’s straight as fuck and he doesn’t care about dicks. Or maybe it’s because he doesn’t want me to know that he’d like to look at it.

Either way, we’re still standing close enough that my dick is almost touching him. If I move an inch, it’ll be right on his. The thought makes me quiver, and I pinch my lower lip between my fingers. It catches his attention.

“Was it a test?” I ask him, and his brow arches. “You giving me the keys. Did you want to see if I would try to escape?”

He narrows his gaze, a bored expression on his face having replaced the zeal from only moments ago. “It was an experiment, Felix. Nothing more. That’s why I’m here, remember? To study you.”

It seems as if he’s speaking words in between his words. Like he wants me to hear what he’s not saying.

I’m not interested in you. So your erection is pointless.

I don’t know why it turns me on even more, but it does.

“Then study me,” I whisper, trailing my own finger from my chest down to my pelvis.

He steps back and turns on the water of the nearest shower. “We need to get you cleaned up.”

My heart falls, but I don’t want to admit it. I’m all tight everywhere from that anti-climatic little show as he turns and wanders away, coming back moments later with his arms full. He tosses a plastic bag down on the floor for me to stand on.

“Take those socks off,” he states, then hands me a bar of soap.

I take it hesitantly, bummed that the intensity from when we first got in here has evaporated. This guy seems very hot and cold. Scratch that. He’s cold as ice, but apparently on rare occasion, he lets out an eruption of fire.

The question is, how can I get more of it?

I do as he says, removing my socks and stepping on the bag. Then I take my glasses off and rinse them beneath the water before leaning my head back beneath the low-pressure waterfall. Dr. Love seems to be in clean-up mode, picking up my bloody clothes and making a pile of them, stacking a towel and some new clothes for me on the nearby stool.

I simply watch him with a longing I just can’t shake, washing myself thoroughly.

“What happened to your shoes?”

I peek at him with a guilty expression on my face. I feel like I’m about to come clean to my father about denting his car by accident.

“I gave them to Dash,” I mumble.

He squints at me. He’s silent for many heavy moments while I finish rinsing myself, wondering if he’s going to be pissed that I helped Dash escape.

Whatever. He’s the one who gave me the keys. The repercussions are his to deal with, too.

“We have much to discuss, Felix.” He steps over to me, just outside the spray of water.

I’m sort of just standing there staring at him. So he turns off the water and picks up the towel. But rather than handing it to me, he opens it and comes closer to me. And he wraps the towel around my shoulders.

I glance up at him, barely breathing.

“You’ve had fun today, haven’t you?” he asks quietly. I nod slowly, unable to look away from his glistening eyes. “I’m glad our experiment was beneficial to you.”

“It was.” I swallow. “Very beneficial.”

His eyes slide down, and his brows shift. “You have bruises on your throat.”

“Oh yea,” I breathe. “O’Malley.” His eyes jump back to mine. “I wasn’t exactly defending myself. I kind of… let him do it.”

I really don’t know why, but I can feel a flush rising into my cheeks. Ignoring it, my eyes fall away from his, down to his throat. And that’s when I notice them…

Scars.

They’re very subtle. You wouldn’t spot them unless you were standing as close to him as I am right now. But a small gasp flies from my lips as I gaze at the slightly uneven skin. When I peer back up at Dr. Love, he’s glaring at me.

He plucks my glasses from my face. “Dry off, Felix.”

I take the towel and use it to dry my hair and my body. Wrapping it around my waist, I look at him, wondering when he’s going to give me my glasses back. I don’t like being without them, especially now. I hate not being able to see him.

Of course he’s there, but he’s blurry. It makes me shift in place.

“I’m sorry for looking,” I tell him.

He stays quiet. But I feel him coming closer. And then he places my glasses back on my face. My stomach is flipping and flopping all over the place, and it’s very inconvenient. I’m so affected by him, and he’s just aloof. He doesn’t care. Honestly, I’m not sure he even knows how to feel.

“Let’s go to my office,” he says evenly. All traces of his earlier fervor gone. Picking up my boxers, he hands them to me. “I’m sure there will be a shitstorm to deal with.”

“Do you regret it?” I ask while getting dressed. “The experiment.”

He hands me a new pair of pants. “I don’t regret things.”

I make a face, stepping into them. “Bold statement.”

“It’s a fact.” He gives me a white t-shirt.

I slip it over my head. “So you just never regret anything?”

He shoots me a warning look. “Felix, we don’t have time for this unnecessary conversation. Put your socks on. I’ll have a new pair of shoes for you shortly, but we need to get back to my office.”

Jeez. What a grouch.

“Yes, sir,” I mutter. When I peek up at him, there’s a dark expression in his eyes. “You’re a bit of a freak, you know that, Doc?” He narrows his gaze. “A little too obsessed with serial killers… I think that makes you strange. Like me.”

He leans in closer to my face. “That’s a stretch… Carver.”

I smirk. Then wink at him.

He rolls his eyes. “Let’s go.”

Felix Harmon Darcey

Age: Nineteen

Location: Brooklyn Heights, NY

By the middle of my sophomore year at LIU, I decided college wasn’t for me.

It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy learning. I always have, and I found my classes interesting enough. But the problem was that after what happened with Emmanuel, I’d developed a very titillating new hobby. One that was much more important to me than any second-year biology class.

I still went to the library all the time. Still read up on the things that appealed to me, like anatomy and physiology. I’d also begun taking photos, and even turned my bedroom closet into a dark room.

But all of that was taking a backseat to this new part of me. The other half of Felix Darcey, who had only just been uncovered. I found myself distracted, constantly wondering where, when, or how I could locate my next victim.

There were ten of them at that point. I always found them outside the clubs in Manhattan. Usually, I would wait for them to walk off alone, and then I would approach them. Chat them up, making sure no one saw us leaving together. After Emmanuel, I decided if I was going to do this again, I needed to be more careful.

Of course, no one knew what happened to Emmanuel. Even if they’d seen him leave with me that night, I’m invisible. I’m sure they wouldn’t be able to pick me out of a lineup. Part of me resented it. But then I just kept reminding myself that it was my superpower.

And I used it to my advantage.

The guys I killed were all my boyfriends. At least, I considered them to be. They would come back to my apartment for a drink and some, in their minds, casual sex, which we would always have. I considered myself to be getting pretty good at sex, though for me nothing quite compared to the feeling of taking their breath away, literally.

I got off, sure, but as the experiences climbed, I began to realize that I was wired differently. I got more sexual gratification from wrapping my hands—or my belt, or a tie—around their throats and squeezing until they were gone. From caving in their skulls with blunt objects, or stabbing them with my kitchen knives. I was better at killing than I was at enjoying sex, that was for sure.

But I didn’t mind. I liked giving the guys orgasms, and when they would give me my own, I didn’t have to fake anything. But in the back of my mind, I was always waiting for the part that curled my toes. The part that tickled my stomach and spread heat like a wave from my groin to my chest.

They would inevitably try to leave. And I would keep them.

The interesting part was that I’m not sure I wanted them to want to stay. Like if I asked one of them to stay and he’d said, Sure, I’d love to! I don’t know what I would have done.

I mean, I know what I would have done… I’d have killed him, regardless. Because the idea that anyone would willingly want to stay with me was ridiculous. Even if they said it, they didn’t mean it.

Maybe back then, when I was still new in my habit, I would have believed them. I would have trusted them when they said they wanted me.

But as time went on, I grew a bit hardened. I became much more cynical over that first year of killing, because ultimately people are too selfish to consider what someone else wants. They only care about fulfilling themselves. They’ll suck you dry and toss you out when you’re no longer useful to them. I realized it after Emmanuel, and each of the nine who followed him were no different.

It brought up a lot of insecurities in myself. I was constantly thinking I wasn’t enough for these men. I wasn’t good enough to hold down a relationship. I was too broken for anyone to really love me.

That was why The Carver was so necessary. He saved me from the harsh pain of reality. He’s always been the real me, devoid of the rampant emotions Felix Darcey feels; the inadequacies, the desperate need for affection. The Carver only wants one thing, and that’s to kill.

He’s simplistic, and I have to appreciate that.

So after a while, I let him take the wheel. It was by about the fourth or fifth victim that I stopped even trying to pretend I didn’t want it. That teeny tiny voice inside that used to offer a measly argument as to why I shouldn’t kill had been snuffed out, rather quickly and effortlessly, too. Truth be told, that voice never really sounded like me, anyway. It sounded more like the voice of society.

This is how you should feel, think, act, Felix.

Well, I didn’t. I didn’t think the way other people did, that much was clear. I certainly didn’t feel the way they did. My feelings were all over the place. Sometimes I would be so overflowing with emotions I couldn’t even leave the house. I would stay in bed for days straight and cry, and I didn’t even know why I was doing it.

Other times I felt nothing. I was an empty husk, shuffling around like a zombie.

Fortunately, I had taught myself at a young age how to act like those around me. I must admit, I wasn’t amazing at it, which was what earned me a lot of teasing when I was young. But still, at college and in New York City, I didn’t really need to fit in much. I just used my invisibility to avoid it altogether. No one even noticed that I was there.

It made capturing my victims a breeze, and even disposing of them was easier than it probably should have been.

I didn’t tell my parents right away when I stopped going to school. I knew they would just get on my case about it. And God forbid if they tried to take away my apartment. It was my sanctuary. I couldn’t give it up. It was perfectly secluded, and none of my neighbors asked questions or complained about the occasional smell, the loud music, or the sounds of struggle.

Plus, it had a perfect bathtub for chopping up bodies.

They did eventually find out I was no longer going to school, but by that time my father was dating Shirley and my mother was so focused on how much she hated that, and how much she was convinced it was affecting Zach, that they barely cared. They told me to get a job, which I did, at the used bookstore. But I didn’t need the money, since they still paid for everything.

I had the ultimate setup. I was on my own, left up to my own devices. The perfect opportunity for The Carver to hone his craft.

And that was when I ran into someone from my past. Someone who I felt had directly altered the path of my life in a very crucial way.

I was in the park one evening in October. I was watching a guy I thought was cute. He was a little on the thinner side for my liking, but he had a nice face. Something about the way he was just walking by himself drew me in. I felt a sort of kinship with him. Like maybe he was alone, just like me.

He couldn’t have been more than eighteen. Probably a freshman, yet to make any friends. I knew the feeling.

I also didn’t typically go for younger guys, but I was barely on the cusp of twenty years old, and less than two years didn’t seem like much of an age difference. I found him very intriguing, with his pale blonde hair and big, sad eyes.

I lingered around a tree, watching him go into the restroom. I was prepared to just stand and wait for him to come out, because following people into the bathroom has never seemed appealing to me. But then I saw something.

A nearby jogger who’d been sort of circling our general area slowed down his pace and walked over to the restrooms. He looked around—which is an awfully suspicious thing to do before going into a bathroom, if you ask me—and then followed the guy inside.

My eyes narrowed. He looked very familiar. I had, of course, seen him from afar, having learned to always be hyperaware of my surroundings. He looked like he was in his fifties, but in pretty good shape for his age. His hair was mostly dark, but with that salt-and-pepper gray at his temples. Square jaw dusted with stubble, broad masculine shoulders… And then something stuck out in my mind.

I thought I’d spotted a tattoo on his forearm… A rosary wrapping around and weaving its way down to his hand. It’s not the rarest tattoo in the world, but I remembered one specific person I knew years back having it.

My stomach was aflutter as I walked, swiftly yet quietly on my toes, to the restrooms, peering inside. There was no one at the urinals, meaning they must have both been inside the stalls, which was odd. So I stood and waited, holding my breath to listen closely. And only a few seconds later, I heard a muffled groan and a sort of thud that rocked the stalls a bit.

Wandering inside, I overheard someone murmuring, Shhh.

Checking underneath the stalls, it was obvious that the first two were empty. But beneath the door of the one on the end, I could see the older man standing—in his jogging shorts—and then my new boyfriend. On his knees.

Another helpless groan gripped my gut, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I rushed up to the stall and kicked the door open, revealing the jogger with my boyfriend’s pretty blonde hair in his fist, forcing his mouth onto his cock.

Startled at my presence, he let go long enough for the young guy to pull away and wobble to his feet.

“Are you—” I started to ask if he was okay, but he pushed past me and rushed out of the restroom before I could get the rest of the words out.

I turned a withering glare on the jogger. And sure enough, I was right.

It was Thomas Kline.

Cam’s father.

I said nothing, simply stared at him while he fixed himself up. “What the hell did you do that for?” he asked incredulously.

My head cocked. “You’re asking me why I stopped you from assaulting that kid?”

He huffed out an entitled laugh, even more proof that he was the man I grew up near. Mr. Kline had always oozed privilege and arrogance. He used the fact that he was raising Cam and Cassie as a single father to garner sympathy from the neighborhood and people in our town. And it worked. Mostly everyone saw him as this great guy, except my father. Dad never liked him.

I’ll admit, even I bought into the Tom Kline, perfect father image for a while myself.

Until Cam left. And I found out his secret.

“That kid wanted it,” Tom said, brushing me out of the way to exit the bathroom stall. “He’s still in the closet, so he was nervous. It happens.”

I squinted at him. There was so much I wanted to say. So much I wanted to do to him in that moment, it was like muscle memory.

Lunge at him. Grab him by the throat.

Bash his head against the porcelain sink. Split that pretty skull open and play with his brains.

My eyelashes fluttered. I didn’t kill men like him. The Carver wasn’t here to avenge people, or wipe other narcissistic sickos off the face of the earth. He killed the guys I liked, not the guys I hated.

This wasn’t our modus operandi.

But the sudden desire to stab the life out of this man was more insistent than anything I’d felt in a long time. Or maybe ever before.

I wanted him to feel the pain I felt when his son left because of him. I wanted to spill his guts the way mine had flopped out of me when I found out how much he’d hurt my best friend.

And so, the thought popped quickly into my head; if you want him, you’ll need to play the game.

I took a breath and asked, “You don’t remember me?”

His brows zipped as he looked me over. A long, leisurely gaze up and down my body that made me sort of nauseous. I hated the fact that I used to find him attractive. He still was, too. Very good-looking, even at his age.

My fingers were wiggling with the need to get him into my tub.

With his eyes sliding over my face, I saw the moment realization dawned. “Felix Darcey.”

I forced a smile. “Hi, Mr. Kline. How’ve you been?”

“Good, good.” He nodded, remaining polite, though I could tell he was trying to feel me out. “I moved out here… oh, what was it? Three years ago?”

In my head, I said, I know you moved out of Ridgefield after Cassie left home to live with her aunt. To escape your perverted ass.

“How do you like it?” I asked, pretending to care.

“Brooklyn is great.” He grinned. “It’s the new Manhattan, they say.” He laughed pretentiously, and I faked it right back. “What are you doing out here? School?”

I nodded. “I go to LIU.”

“That’s great!”

“Yea…”

There was an awkward silence after that, and I decided to just go for it.

“I don’t live on campus, you know,” I stated casually. Tom blinked. “My parents got me a place right up the block.”

“Is that right?” he asked, and I could hear the curiosity growing in his voice. “Any roommates?”

I shook my head, giving him my best seductive look, silently letting him know dick was on the menu. Only this time, I had no intention of giving mine to him.

All I could think about was killing the fuck out of this asshole. It was such a new sensation for me. Craving the kill without the sex. Without the infatuation I perceived as love. Without seeking his affection or companionship. I wondered if it would feel the same.

I suppose we’ll see, I’d thought.

Thomas Kline gave me one last lingering look before gesturing to the door of the restrooms. “Lead the way.”

I brought him to my apartment. When we got inside, I offered him a drink, to which he asked, “Are you even old enough to drink?”

“No.” I shrugged with amusement on my lips. “But you like that fact. Don’t you?”

He gave me a peculiar look. But I kept going, stepping closer to him.

“You like ’em young.” I reached out to run my finger over the tattoo on his arm. “That boy earlier looked like he was fresh out of high school.”

Mr. Kline shrugged, like he wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“You know, I’m surprised you even agreed to come here with me,” I went on. “I think I’m at least a few years too old for you.”

When my eyes found his, I could see the confusion and irritation in them. “Look, I don’t know what it is you think you know about me…” My brows lifted and I waited for him continue. “I know you and my son were close…”

At the mention of Cam, every muscle in my body stiffened.

“And sure, Cameron and I had our differences,” he went on. “I won’t pretend to be the perfect father. Far from it, actually. But I did my best with him and Cassandra.”

“Mmm…” I hummed, grinding my teeth together so hard my jaw began to ache.

Distracting myself from the urges swimming in my bloodstream like poison, I draped my arms over his shoulders. “Well, as long as you’re here, Mr. Kline, I have to tell you that I’ve always found you super hot.”

His mood shifted instantly, like the conceited creep he was, and he smirked, grabbing onto my ass hard. Hard enough that I flinched. “Is that right?”

I forced myself to nod. “Uh-huh. In fact, I think you were my first real crush. I always had this fantasy about you and Cam together…” I moved my lips up to his ear. “Father and son. And me in the middle.”

He made a growling noise that had me shivering with disgust and illicit need all the same. “I wish I would have known back then. It might have made things with my son work out a little easier.”

The rage I was hiding caused me to bite down so hard on the inside of my cheek, I tasted blood. I let it calm me down, the roaring fury weaving around every fiber of me. I’d never wanted to kill someone so badly before. And now was my chance.

At this point, I was something of a seasoned serial killer. I had ten victims, after all. I deserved the hype.

And with that thought, Felix Darcey snuck off to bed. And The Carver came out to play.

I let Mr. Kline kiss me. I let him take my shirt off, and I let him run his finger inside my pants, along the crack of my ass. Then I removed his shirt too, all the while considering the best possible way to savor this.

We were in the living room, close enough to my kitchen that all I had to do was back him up into the counter. Which I did.

He was kissing me, stuffing my hand inside his pants to grip his dick while I was eyeing my knives. But I decided I wanted to do this one blood-free. At first, anyway.

My eager gaze settled on something perfect as he took my dick out of my pants. And he dropped to his knees.

“I hope you know I’m going to wreck you, Felix,” he murmured from down there, giving my cock a few slow kisses and sucks. “Don’t get used to this pampering I’m giving you now. Once I get you wet enough, you’ll have my dick so deep in you, you’ll feel it for weeks.”

I bit my lip to keep a straight face, nodding along with his aggressively dominant words. “Can’t wait, Mr. Kline. I appreciate you sucking me like this first.”

“Well, you have a purely perfect cock.”

He began sucking away while I casually reached for a plastic trash bag on the counter.

“I can’t wait for you to fuck me,” I mumbled to him, and he groaned on my dick. “I want you to make it hurt. Like I know you hurt Cameron.”

His eyelashes fluttered, and he peered up at me. The expression in them was curious, as if he thought maybe this was some kind of sex game.

“If I cry and tell you to stop, will that make you fuck me harder?” My tone was low, only mildly accusatory, but mostly just sinister.

Mr. Kline still had my dick in his mouth as he gazed up at me.

“You stole him from me,” I whispered. And then he popped off.

“What…?”

“He left me because you’re a sick, disgusting pervert,” I said, clutching the plastic in my hand. “If he hadn’t gone, maybe I wouldn’t have become what I am.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He looked like he was about to stand.

So I said, “But unfortunately for you, things happened exactly how they were meant to. This was fate, Mr. Kline. I’m doing this for him. So say goodnight.”

And then I swept the plastic bag over his head.

Morality is an interesting concept.

Some people fancy themselves ivory white as far as morals go. They wake up every morning, strap on their do-gooder cape and waltz around with that compass pointing in only one direction.

And then there are those who dabble more in the darker side of things.

But the part that’s always intrigued me is how willing people are to stick to their principles, regardless of which side they’re on. Most of us know inside how we feel about right and wrong, opinions that are usually formed early on, often guided or influenced by those around us. And we follow those internal guidelines to a T.

I’ve always found myself to be somewhere in the gray, and I like it that way. I pride myself on being a very open-minded person—doctors of the mind should be that way. Willing to see all sides of things; consider all the angles before making an educated decision on how I feel. And even then, my mind is never fully made up.

There should always be some wiggle room.

I think that’s what brought me to where I am right now. Sitting in my office in Alabaster Penitentiary, staring at a freshly showered Felix Darcey as he regales me with the story of how he used my keys to kill a fellow inmate, and set another free.

I still can’t tell if I should feel guilty or not…

I’ll be the first to admit I gave little thought to the potential repercussions of this experiment. But honestly, I think that’s why it was such a good idea.

Manuel Blanco brought me here to study The Carver; to get deep inside his head and learn everything possible about his actions and who he is, no holds barred. Even if he ends up upset about losing two inmates in the span of an afternoon, which he very well could be, I’ll need to stand my ground in my methods.

Handing Felix the keys was immensely beneficial to me. To my research. It gave me a front-row seat to exactly how he reacts when offered certain choices. He kills one prisoner, but lets the other go free…

And then he stays in prison himself?!

I mean, come on. Those results—in a few hours, no less—are a million times more fascinating than what that asshole Johansson has come up with in weeks of his brainwashing techniques.

The only thing better than this would have been to watch him firsthand. I’ll definitely be checking the recorded feed later. I’m almost itching to do so.

But I have more important things to tend to right now.

“Here.” I yank open a desk drawer and take out a packet of peanut butter Ritz Bits, tossing them at Felix. They hit him in the arm and fall onto the floor, where he stares at them. “Eat.”

He picks them up, wasting no time ripping the packet open and stuffing them into his mouth. A small smile tugs at his lips while he munches away, joyfully, practically bouncing in place as he does. You’d have no idea he stabbed the life out of someone not ninety minutes ago.

“So you were saying?” I ask as he pops another little cracker sandwich into his mouth.

He finishes chewing and swallows before answering me, which I have to appreciate. “Right. So Tom Kline was the first victim I actively hated. The first one I wanted to kill to get rid of, rather than make him stay. He was the first one I posed.”

I glance at his open file on my desk. “Why the elementary school?”

“Because Cam and Cassie were only six when he started…” His voice trails off and I witness his jaw clench.

I’m just in awe of this man. He is the most captivating killer ever, hands down.

No remorse. No qualms about killing the innocent, whatsoever. Yet he has this side of himself seeking to avenge the pain caused to children by these perverts.

It’s obvious that he enjoys killing the child predators so much because of his eternal love for this Cam person. And his other victims, the ones he thinks he loved, are like his way of chasing the boy he could never have. The first boy who left him.

I find myself wondering while he tells me about Cameron Kline, what’s so special about the kid? Why did Felix become so swept up in him in the first place? Sure, he sounds like an alright friend to an adolescent Felix. But to me, it sounds more like Felix was hooked by the first boy who ever showed him attention, the kind he’s craved his entire life. And he’s been wriggling on the line ever since.

Personally, I think—based on what he’s told me so far about Cameron—that Felix needs someone more grounded. More stable. If we’re talking about a man whose influence would be good for him, relationship wise, I believe he needs someone to balance out his infinitely uneven personality. To give him the affection he so craves, but also put him in his place when he’s acting like a brat. He might be continuously searching for carbon copies of Cam, but then he’s also subconsciously choosing the wrong men on purpose.

But hey… it’s none of my business. I’m just here to learn.

“Did you only pose the victims you hated? The Tom Klines of the world?” I ask him, leaning against my desk while I watch him, cuddled up on my office couch in his clean clothes, hair still damp from the shower.

I know there’s likely a storm brewing outside this room as we speak. But I’m still too invested in my work to care.

Felix’s lips quirk. “Toward the end, I’d become a bit… theatrical with my kills.”

I give him a knowing look. “I would say so… Rockefeller Center and all.”

“Yea.” He huffs a laugh. “That’s one example. I guess I was getting a little show boat-y. There were a few times I posed victims I cared for, but it was more for their benefit than to make a spectacle, like with the others. For example, number twenty-six, Gee Pourier, was a dancer on Broadway. He worked on the final run of Cabaret.” He pauses to stare at me like I’m supposed to care about that. I shrug and he rolls his eyes. “Anyway, I slit his wrists and let him bleed out in my bathtub. Then I posed him on the fire escape outside of the Broadway Theatre, which was where he’d worked. I thought he would have enjoyed that.”

Turning back to the files for a moment, I leaf through some photos. “What was his carving?”

“I took out his cheek implants,” he says, and I peer at him. “He didn’t need them. He looked fine the way he was.”

A small puff of air gusts from between my lips. It resembles a chuckle, or at least a version of one, and I’m as stunned by it as Felix apparently is. His gray eyes widen behind his glasses, a slow grin forming on his lips.

Moving on before he can comment, I grumble, “Tell me how it felt to leave Kieran’s body behind.” His brows zip together. “You’re not used to killing and just walking away. From what I understand, you’ve never really done that.” He blinks, then shakes his head slowly. “But with Ivan and Kieran you did, not only because you physically couldn’t move their bodies anywhere or dispose of them, but also because you didn’t have to. Talk to me about that.”

He eats one last cracker, then crumbles the packet in his fist. “Well, I felt some relief. Disposing of bodies is hard work. Plus, I didn’t love either of them, so it’s not like I wanted to spend more time with them.”

“So you’re saying that with victims like Ivan and Kieran—the Toms—you savored the process, whereas with your Emmanuels, you cared more about the product.” I can’t help the way my stomach tightens just saying these words.

It’s sort of groundbreaking in the world of serial killers. In most cases—not all, but definitely the majority—your killer is either product or process. Meaning they kill strictly for the body, not putting too much thought or attention on the kill itself. Or the body is just an inconsequential effect, and the act of killing is what they really want.

It’s extremely rare to find someone who’s both. And for that person to be a product killer with some victims and a process killer with others? Well, that’s just downright unheard of.

“Look at you, throwing around the true crime lingo.” Felix grins. “If I didn’t know any better, Doc, I’d say you only like me for the book material. What am I… your Ed Kemper?”

I purse my lips to keep the wayward movements in check, standing up straight and walking over to him. As I approach, the amusement from his own wittiness slips away, and he gazes up at me.

“First of all, stop calling me Doc.” My tone is firm. “It’s something Bugs Bunny says. Second of all, like is a strong word for someone who is very much book material, as you are.” I witness some hurt in his eyes as his Adam’s apple dips in his throat. But then I lean in. “And third of all, you are infinitely more fascinating than The Co-ed Killer.”

I hold out my hand, and it takes him a solid ten seconds of gawking at me with those entranced doe eyes before he snaps out of it and hands over the empty wrapper from his snack.

I’m across the room tossing it into the trash bin, when the door to my office flies open and a human hurricane in the form of Officer Chevelle storms inside.

Time feels like it’s in slow motion as I watch him noticing Felix. Then the pile of Felix’s bloody clothes on the floor by my desk. And in those ticking seconds, I witness him putting two and two together, an equation he probably already knew the solution to.

In the blink of an eye, time speeds back up. And all hell breaks loose.

Velle rushes Felix and grabs him by the throat with his left hand, hauling him to his feet and immediately launching his fist at Felix’s face. Before I can even process what’s happening, he’s on top of my patient on the floor, throwing blow after blow.

Felix is clearly in shock, though he attempts blocking Velle as best he can’t. Still, it’s no use for the size of the officer and the fury behind his fists. Felix is instantly bleeding, and I don’t even think.

Bounding up behind Velle, I hook my arm around his neck, using it to yank him off. I pull him backward, and he sort of tumbles into me. I use the element of surprise to my advantage and tighten my grip around his neck, hoping to at the very least subdue him until he’s ready to calm the fuck down.

Unfortunately for me, he’s obviously more skilled at brawls than me and Felix. He rears his head back into my nose with a headbutt that disorients me, causing my eyes to water up.

Stumbling back, I rub my face while he jumps to his feet. Now I’m fucking pissed.

I step to him, because fuck this shit. My adrenaline has gone through the roof in a flash and I’m ready to throw down with this motherfucker.

But he pulls his Glock. “What the fuck is going on here?!”

The sounds of us all panting are ringing through the room, my heart lunging hard against my chest. When I peek at Felix, I find him still on the floor, sans glasses, sitting back on his elbows with blood trickling from his nose and lip.

I hold my hands up to pacify Velle. “Relax, Officer. Let’s just calm down.”

“Calm down?!” he roars, glancing at Felix. “This psychopathic fuck murdered yet another inmate!”

Keeping my voice as easy as possible, I ask, “Do you have any evidence of these accusations, Officer Chevelle?”

“I’ll give you some evidence, you fucking clown,” he seethes at me, then cocks his gun, aiming it right at my face.

My blood is rushing so hard in my ears, it sounds like Niagara Falls.

“Velle, wait.” Felix wobbles to his feet, then steps over, putting himself between us. “You’re right. I did it. I killed Kieran O’Malley.”

Staying as still as possible, my mind sifts quickly through the best possible options to calm this man down. He’s never liked me or Felix, and he could easily just shoot us both in the face right now and be done with it, which I’m sure would make him sufficiently happy.

My stomach knots aggressively as I try to inch myself in front of Felix, or at least get the gun on me and not him.

Velle exhales a long, ragged sigh, then growls, “How? How the fuck did you pull that off?” He moves the gun in between Felix and me.

Felix flashes me a quick look, as if he’s contemplating a truth or a lie. But then he answers, “I had the keys… To the cells.”

Velle looks severely distraught. I’ll admit, it gives me the tiniest tickle of remorse in my gut. We’ve never seen eye to eye since I’ve been here, but still. I’m not out to actively make his life more difficult. And from the way he’s reacting, Kieran O’Malley’s death has definitely done that, in spades.

He mumbles something under his breath, glaring at Felix like he has no idea what kind of shitstorm he’s created with his actions. And it’s true. I don’t think either of us does. But the problem is that I did what I did in the name of research. And Felix is physically incapable of feeling remorse.

Velle takes a step in my direction, and I subtly move Felix out of the way. “You gave him the keys, didn’t you? Didn’t you?!”

I shake my head. “Officer… What’s done is done.”

I know this is probably the worst thing I could say to him. And maybe ten percent of me thinks he might just kill me. But the other ninety percent knows he can’t kill me, or Felix. Because then he’d be facing the wrath of The Ivory. And I’m sure Velle knows that whatever responsibility he’s going to take for Felix’s actions, it would be an entirely different situation if he took away the Warden’s prized possession. The Carver.

And sure enough, he lowers his gun with a scoff. “What’s done is done??” My hands come down while he glowers at Felix, who shrugs. Velle falls utterly defeated as he sighs. “You’re the Warden’s problem now.”

And he leaves the room with much less gusto than he came in with.

The air is thick and tense around us as I take in a long breath and let it out slowly. Looking over Felix, I find him swiping at blood from a cut on his lip. He sticks his thumb into his mouth and sucks it off.

I gulp at the sight, and I’m not sure why. That was hectic. There’s so much lingering testosterone in the room, it’s like when there’s gas in the air and you can see it. The waves.

The intensity. The… blood.

Without thinking, I close the distance between us and reach for his face. The killer.

I swipe my fingers under his nose, catching blood on them. Using my other hand to take his chin, I tilt his head back just an inch. He moves with my guidance, no hesitations.

“Are you alright?” I ask quietly, checking his nose for a fracture. I don’t feel anything, which is a minor miracle considering how hard Velle was hitting him.

Felix nods, blinking at me. From this close, without his glasses on, I can really see the gray in his irises. There’s a hint of blue, something like periwinkle, mixed in with the deep, almost silvery color. Like a cloud of smoke blowing out from his pupils. It’s quite unique.

“It’s not broken,” I tell him, attempting to remain professional, though something seems to have shifted and the fact that I can’t tell what it is makes me feel like I’m suffocating.

“I can’t see you,” he murmurs, a deep rumble of a voice, still somehow soft in its richness. His tongue drags over the cut in his lip, and I find myself staring at it for too long.

“Stay.” My fingers slide off the smooth skin of his face and I turn to go find his glasses.

They’re on the floor by the couch, and when I pick them up, I notice a small crack in the right lens. It’s not terrible, but still. They’ll need to be replaced.

Coming back to Felix, I hand him the glasses while he runs his fingers through his damp chestnut hair. “I’ll get you new glasses.”

“Thank you,” he whispers. “For everything, I mean. For stopping him.”

I can’t help but stare at him for a moment. “You’re my patient, Felix. If he kills you, I’m out of a job.”

I have no earthly clue why I’m attempting humor. I’m not good at it. I don’t joke, and I’ve never cared to. But for some reason right now, I just feel like he needs it. And I’m not sure why I care…

Felix gives me a small grin as he slides his glasses back on, then cocks his head to the side. I take a step back. But he takes one forward. “I don’t think he knows about Dash yet…”

“I’m sure he’ll be figuring it out any minute.”

I step back again because I can still feel the air around us and it’s overwhelming. There’s been some kind of shift, and now he’s looking at me as if he wants something.

But what…?

We need to get back on track here. That fight with Velle, seeing my patient hurt, it must have stirred up some protectiveness in me, that’s all. Having a gun pointed at me, the bizarre flicker of fear when it was pointed at him…

I clear my throat. This is all very odd. I don’t understand the tightness in my chest or the warmth in the room that seems to be coming directly from us.

“You should rest. It’s been a long day,” I tell him firmly.

I place my hand on his back gently to guide him toward the couch. But even just brushing my fingertips on the hard surface of his back feels peculiar right now. Felix audibly sucks in a small breath.

Keep making conversation. Ignore the way he’s looking at you.

“You can sleep on this couch until we figure out where they want to put you,” I say as professionally as I can manage, though now I’m thinking about him lying down on the couch and it’s turning my stomach as if I’m going to be sick. I think.

“I’m sorry about the keys,” Felix mumbles, leaning into me a bit.

“It’s fine. Sit, Felix.”

“But I’m not tired.” He turns his wide eyes back on me and I would love to look away, but I refuse. I’m not afraid of this kid, no matter how theoretically dangerous he is.

“It doesn’t matter.” I point to the door. “Someone will be right out there keeping watch. Oh, and Kent will bring you new shoes.”

He’s running his thumb methodically over the cut on his lip. I need to go.

“Won’t you stay and keep me company?” he asks quietly, standing so close to me that I can feel his voice vibrating.

It’s with those words and the way his tone does this sultry lilt at the end that I finally give up the denial and admit to myself that I think he’s hitting on me. Maybe I should feel flattered? Of course, I’m not interested in men sexually, especially male sociopaths, so he’s barking up all the wrong trees. But still, it always feels nice to be wanted.

While I’m contemplating the best way out of this situation I’ve found myself in, Felix sort of brushes into me, and my knee-jerk reaction is to grab him by the biceps to steady us. But it doesn’t. Instead, I stumble backward onto the couch, plopping onto my ass on the velvet, and bringing Felix with me.

He somehow ends up on top of me, straddling my hips. And before I can push him off or move away, I have lips on mine.

Felix Darcey’s lips. The Carver is fucking kissing me.

I yank away from him, but he grasps my jaw and holds my mouth to his, letting out a soft sigh that registers in my groin.

It makes no fucking sense.

“Felix,” I grunt, finally prying myself out of his grip. “Stop.”

“Why…” His voice comes out gravelly and when he shifts, I feel something hard between us. Pressing into my stomach.

Alright, that’s it.

Taking matters into my own hands, literally, I lift him off of me, tossing him onto the couch beside me like a rag doll. He winds up on his back, and the confusing rage burning its way up my chest takes over.

I come down over him and grab him by the throat. “Do not fucking try that shit again, do you understand me??”

He whimpers, writhing beneath me. “Why not? You might like it. Just give me a few more seconds and I can—”

“Felix,” I growl, shutting him up quick. “No. Hear me. I’m not your fucking boyfriend. I’m not your Daddy, and I’m not your pal. I’m a doctor here to examine you. That’s it. Don’t confuse my dedication to my work with some kind of desire for you.”

“You’ve never been with a guy…?” His lashes flutter and my jaw clenches.

“We’re not talking. I’m telling you to cut the shit. Got it?” The flames of my frustration bore into him, his chest moving up and down with heavy breaths as I repeat, “Got it?”

Finally, he nods. “Yes, Dr. Love. I’m sorry.” I feel his Adam’s apple bob beneath my palm and I need to get up fast. Right the fuck now.

Letting go of him, I scramble off the couch, straightening myself up. I smooth my dreads, then swipe at my lower lip. Blood.

I peek at Felix, who’s still lying on the couch, gawking at me.

I have his blood on my mouth.

Swallowing hard, I pick my phone up off the table. Fuck… It was recording this whole time.

I’m shaking my head as I rush to grab the file off my desk and my coat off the coat rack before stalking to the door.

And as I’m leaving, I hear a raspy voice murmur, “Goodnight, Want.”

This is such a waste.

For the first time in several months, I’m sleeping on something that isn’t the floor, or an exam chair, or a rickety old cot. I’m actually on a couch—a comfortable one, at that. Sure, it’s no hotel bed or Tempurpedic whatever, but still. It’s pretty comfy. I should be taking advantage and trying my hardest to catch up on my beauty sleep.

But no. I can’t. Instead, I’m lying here, staring up at the ceiling, fantasizing about my doctor.

It’s not out of the realm of normalcy for me. I spend a lot of time daydreaming. Always have. Still, I know that Dr. Love is the last person I should be thinking about in any sort of romantic way. For so many reasons.

He’s clearly very straight. I mean, any guy who was even marginally bi-curious would have taken that opening I gave him earlier and ran with it. If he was even slightly interested, the experimentation-train would have run express to, at the very least, Tug-town.

And sure, he didn’t seem disgusted by my attempt at making out with him. But he was certainly shocked. Maybe a little appalled, but I don’t think it was because I’m a guy. It seemed more like something he would never allow. A patient—and a vicious serial killer at that—kissing him is unacceptable in his eyes. That much was clear from his threat.

Even so, I can’t help how much my stomach is flipping and flopping at the memory of his lips touching mine. They’re soft… So very soft, and full. Even stiff and unmoving, it was a perfectly titillating thing to experience. And of course, I was hard as a rock, which was only mildly embarrassing and inconvenient. But the feeling of his abs was too much for my dick to bear. God, I could tell even from rubbing on him for one second that his body is out of this world. I can only imagine what he looks like without clothes on…

My mouth waters as I roll onto my stomach, pushing my hips into the couch. The delectable burn in my loins is something I haven’t felt in a while. And even with the last few guys, I don’t remember craving them this hard. Not for sex, anyway. It’s like a deliberate need that rushes through my entire body, an addiction demanding to be sated. But rather than the blood lust, I think it’s just a… regular lust.

I’m confused by it. My sexual appetites are never usually this strong.

It must be him. My robot doctor, who is so clearly only here to do a job. To use up every last bit of information I have to give him… Squeeze me like a sponge being wrung dry. And then he’ll let me go. Drop me like they all do.

It’s always the same. They’ll never stay, and this hyperactive drive I have for love and affection is getting old. Because now I’m not just falling for guys whose oxygen I want to steal with my bare hands; whose blood I want to bathe in as my last remaining connection to the happiness we could have shared.

I’m lusting after someone who sees me as an object more than a person. Someone who will never want me. Ever.

I whine out of petulance at the thought. Figures. I’ve always known on some level that I pick the wrong guys. This just verifies it. It’s a well-known thing, after all. You’re not supposed to crush on people who work for you. Or who you work for. Do I work for him, or does he work for me?

Who knows, but either way, it’s not a good idea. Unfortunately for me, though, I’ve never really been able to control myself. Hence the murderings.

Squirming onto my side, I look around the room. I’m literally in his office right now. I still can’t really believe it. Which other prisoner in a place like Alabaster Penitentiary would be left to sleep in a psychiatrist’s office? It seems like the most unlikely thing in the world. I’m sure Velle knows nothing about this. He’d never allow it.

Or maybe he’s just too busy cleaning up my mess to worry about where I’m resting my head.

His words from earlier, after he kicked the shit out of me, spring to mind.

You’re the Warden’s problem now.

I have to gulp just a little. I know Manuel Blanco won’t do anything crazy to me. At least, nothing crazier than he’s already been doing. I’m too important to him.

Still, he’s going to find out I killed O’Malley and set Dash free. In fact, I’m sure Velle has already told him. And I won’t say I’m not the tiniest bit nervous about his reaction.

The Warden is a scary guy. I don’t like interacting with him because he just seems like one of those unpredictable assholes. The type who are untouchable and they know it. He can do whatever he wants in this place. And sure, he loves having me here. And he brought Dr. Love here to do whatever he sees fit with me. But does that mean he’ll just let us get away with what we’ve done?

I guess we’ll find out.

Sitting up, I swing my legs off the couch. Clearly, I won’t be getting any sleep tonight, so I decide to poke around in Dr. Love’s things, because why not? I pick up my glasses where they’re resting on the coffee table and slide them on, wincing at the pain in my eye. I’m sure I’ll have a black eye tomorrow, if I don’t already. Velle’s fists are no joke.

I’ll have to remember that next time I piss him off.

Tiptoeing across the room, my eyes fling to the office door. One of the guards is standing out there, keeping watch. He’s already popped his head inside to check on me twice in the last four hours. I guess that was the condition of me being able to stay in here, though I know nothing of the details because Dr. Love didn’t tell me. I think he probably just wants to keep me away from the scene of my crime. Or maybe to protect me from Velle.

I’m not really sure what’s happening, why I’m in here or when I go back to my regular cell. But I might as well explore while I can. For all I know, they might throw me back in solitary tomorrow.

But until then, I wander over to Dr. Love’s desk. There’s barely anything on it. Just an old landline phone that looks like it’s from the nineties, a stapler, and a pen, all sitting parallel to one another. Something tells me this isn’t a coincidence. Yanking at a couple of drawers, I find them locked. And I don’t have the keys anymore, which has me pouting.

But I shake it off, because Dash clearly needed them more than me.

I wonder briefly if he actually got free. And if he did, where he ended up going. I mean, getting out of the prison is one thing, and probably a pretty easy one from what I’ve heard around the halls upstairs. But we are still on an island in the middle of the ocean. Rumor has it, the waters surrounding Alabaster Isle are pretty dangerous. The guards call the area right off the prison’s shore, Shark Bay. It doesn’t sound like the place you want to be.

I chew on my lip for a moment, thinking about Dash. I’m sure he made it somehow. If not, they’ll catch him. And then he’ll probably wish he was eaten by a shark.

It seems tame compared to the things they could do to him in here.

Shaking it off, I tug on another desk drawer, which happens to be open. Peering inside, my eyes light up at the sight of a few items for me to play with. I pluck out a metal water bottle and read the side. It says John’s Hopkins, with some kind of crest which I assume is for that university. That must be where Dr. Love went to school.

I put it back and go for a notebook. I recognize it as the one he’s always scribbling notes into during our sessions. Flipping it open to the first page, I find a dated entry. I’m guessing it was one of our first sessions, since I’m not sure of the exact date. Johansson usually says it out loud when he begins his experiments on me, like he’s being recorded from somewhere in the exam rooms.

He must be… The whole place is probably bugged.

An itching thought sticks in my mind… Of that last time. When Templeton made me come against my will. I wonder who’s seen that footage…

The Warden… Dr. Love.

I gulp, sinking down onto the floor with the notebook in my hands. Leaning up against Dr. Love’s desk, my eyes scan the written words. His handwriting is neat; pristine penmanship, which doesn’t surprise me at all. Even when he’s scribbling, he’s organized.

The words on the page read:

#

Possession. He speaks about human beings, his lovers, as if they’re his belongings. Things he wants to keep, and preserve. And I can’t tell if he does it because he craves their affection, or if it’s just a means to an end.

I wonder if he would kill them eventually, anyway.

#

My jaw clenches.

I’m not sure that I disagree with him. That’s not the issue. It’s the way he’s writing about me here. He says that I treat my victims like possessions. Well, they are. They’re mine. I killed them so I could keep them, and he knows that.

But he’s worse. He treats me like a lab rat.

He doesn’t want you, Felix. No matter how much you want him. You’re an object.

Flipping to the next page, I stow my disappointment and keep reading.

#

Delusions of grandeur.

For someone so self-aware, Felix seems to have a view of himself and what he’s done that’s a bit romanticized. He feels no remorse, which is obvious. And he loves thinking about his victims. He fixates on them. But it’s not sexual?

I wonder about that question mark. He’s unsure.

Onto the next page I go.

Felix’s sexual urges are fascinating. He becomes aroused by his process and product interchangeably. But when I ask him about the sex, he never seems particularly thrilled about it.

Has he truly reached the gratification he’s searching for? The lust and affection together?

I close the notebook with a slap and toss it onto the floor. Banging my head against the side of the desk, I close my eyes and breathe out slowly.

What does he know, anyway??

My sex life is fine. What I felt for my exes… It was what I needed.

I’ve reached gratification, you know-it-all charlatan.

But even thinking the words doesn’t feel satisfactory to me. There’s a deep itch somewhere inside, begging to be scratched. I’ve always thought that my kills sated it until I was thirsty for more. But did they really?

My fist clenches at my side. I’m second-guessing myself and I hate that. He’s gotten into my head so deep in such a short amount of time, this doctor. It’s worrying. And even now, I find myself watching the door, waiting for him to come back. Wishing and hoping it will open and his stern, emotionless face will appear to assess me some more.

Slumping over, I walk my thoughts to my last victim. The last one I actually slept with.

Nick. I didn’t know much about him other than that he was very good-looking. He was of a similar build, and he had a mouth I couldn’t have dreamt up if I tried.

But when we got to the actual sex, I remember it took me a while to come. It felt good, it always does. But something was missing, and even now, remembering it, I can’t put my finger on what that is. My body is tight and frustrated, keyed up with these thoughts and self-doubts.

And they’re all his fault.

My doctor, with his perfect skin and strong, tattooed arms. His clothes that barely fit around his large body and his eyes the color of precious stones.

My fingers slide up to my throat and I remember him gripping it. My dick jumps.

The sight of my blood on his lips…

My cock is throbbing in my pants. Running a hand over my erection, I let out a soft breath.

Where are you, new Want? And how do I get you to want me back?

I open my eyes to the feeling of someone watching me.

It startles me at first. People don’t watch me sleep. I’m usually the one doing the watching.

My lashes flutter and I crane my neck, peering up at the culprit.

Dr. Love. Wearing some tailored beige pants and a navy-blue button-down that fit him way too well.

“Morning,” I rumble, closing my eyes once more and curling up as if to go back to sleep.

He’s standing, sort of towering over me. And even though my eyes are closed, I can feel him staring at me.

One of my eyes creeps open and I huff with attitude, “What?”

His chin juts toward the couch. “You had the option of sleeping on an actual relatively comfortable piece of furniture for the first time in weeks, and you opt to sleep on the floor next to my desk?”

“I was snooping.” I release a bored sigh. “And I got tired.”

He goes quiet, so I reopen my eyes fully and glance up to find him squinting at me. His face still shows very little emotion, but I think that’s the look he’d give someone if he were mildly perturbed.

It’s actually really cute.

“Snooping?” He repeats the word. “As in, looking through my personal belongings?”

“Good, you know what that word means.” I smirk.

I witness his jaw clench. “Felix, enough with this snarky, immature little game. I’m here to work. Now, get off the floor and go sit down.”

Something about the unenthused way he’s ordering me around sends a thrilling tingle through my insides. I can’t help myself. I slowly rise to my feet and putter my way over to the couch at his command. All the while with him standing there looking at me like I’m an inconsequential inconvenience.

I can’t tell if I hate it or love it.

I know I shouldn’t enjoy him treating me like I don’t matter, but for some reason, it intrigues me. Maybe because I know it’s not true. He’s captivated by me and what I do. That much was made clear when he came at me in the showers, after I killed O’Malley. He’s sincerely invested in me and this job.

So why is he acting like he doesn’t want to be near me now?

Oh, right… The kiss.

I almost forgot for a second there. I tried kissing him yesterday, and he did not take it well. That must be it, then. He’s pissed off that I tried to kiss him.

Well, guess what, Doc?? I’m pissed off that you seem to think you know everything about me from a few measly visits. And that’s worse than your reason.

Nestling myself into the velvet couch, I take a moment to appreciate the ease to my stiff muscles and sore ass. I really should have slept here last night. But I was exhausted, and I guess I just passed out. It’s not like I did it on purpose.

My eyes follow Dr. Love as he strides over to where I’m seated, long legs bringing him here in only a few steps. As he’s sitting down, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and presses on the screen, I’m guessing to turn on the recorder.

“I don’t want to be recorded,” I mutter, giving him a sharp look.

He stares at me for a solid five seconds in silence before he says, “Why are you being so obstinate today?” Then he pauses before lowering his voice to add, “Is this about last night?”

The deep grumbles and the way his normally robotic face has shifted to reflect roughly three percent concern magnifies the flutter in my gut. And now it really feels like butterflies are just eating each other alive in there.

Ignoring it, I fold my arms over my chest. “No. I don’t care about that anymore.”

“You don’t?” He raises an eyebrow.

My head shakes back and forth steadily. “Nope. It wasn’t that big of a deal, anyway. You’re the one still harping on it.”

I can feel the heat from his confused glare on my face, but I’m finding it very hard to look at him right now. Mainly because I know I’m acting like a stubborn fool, and he’s reacting the way my father used to. And I’m really not trying to think about my daddy issues right now.

“Felix,” he says my name on a condescending sigh, as if I’m testing his patience, “I need to record you. This is what I’m here for. We need to have a session so that I can—”

“What?” I cut him off. “Make some more assumptions about me?? You’ve been doing that since day one. You don’t need any more sessions to figure me out. According to your notes, it’s pretty much case closed.”

“That is not true,” he grouses, the frustration in his tone kicking up a notch. “I still have a lot of work to do with you, Felix. We’re only just getting started.”

I blink at him. The way my stomach is flipping right now is inconvenient as hell. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I don’t consent to being recorded.”

His gaze narrows, and his amber eyes go dark as he leans forward. “You don’t consent?”

“No.” I gulp, trying my hardest to stand my ground. “No consent.”

His head cocks to the side. “You don’t think I could get it from you?”

My eyes go blinky. “Huh…?”

“You don’t need to consent, Felix,” he tells me, smug in his disinterest. “You’re mine, to deal with as I see fit. Warden’s orders.”

There’s a zap of fear that shoots up my spine, like a rush of endorphins. It’s such a rare sensation for me, it causes a throb deep in the pit of my stomach. It feels… oddly tantalizing.

Forcing myself not to dwell on all the tingles, I murmur, “Hm… who’s the possessive one now?”

Dr. Love gives me a stern look. “Deflecting.”

“Fine… Maybe I’ll just go mute,” I mutter petulantly. “I don’t need to talk to you, after all.”

He inches in closer. “I have ways of getting it out of you.”

“Are we still talking about words…?” My voice creeps from my throat.

That gets him. His face sort of drops, and he sits back fast, repositioning in his seat. His jaw ticks visibly as he tosses his phone aggressively onto the table.

“Fine. No recording.” He folds his arms across his chest. The way the fabric strains over his biceps is mesmerizing. “What precisely in my notes bothered you so much?”

I’m caught off guard. I didn’t expect him to ask. Or care. “Um…”

His brows raise expectantly. “Were any of my assessments incorrect?” I fumble for a second and he cajoles, “Speak up, Felix. If I’m wrong, I need to know about it.”

Thinking back to the notes, I recall the bit about my wanting to possess people. Thinking of my victims as objects for me to own…

It’s definitely not incorrect.

The delusions of grandeur thing makes sense too, even if I’m not crazy about how it makes me sound.

Then my mind stops on the last note I read. About my sexual gratification.

“My sex life isn’t boring.” The words fall out of my mouth, and the moment they do, I immediately regret them.

Dr. Love’s expression goes from patronizing to downright stupefied. I can almost hear those little chirp chirp noises when he blinks, like a cartoon character.

“I just mean, uh… I get sexual gratification from my relationships.” I try explaining myself, but it still comes out defensive and lacking confidence.

He gawks at me. “Did I say that you don’t?”

“Well, yea. Pretty much.” My fingers dig into my thighs. “In your notes, you said it doesn’t seem like I’m fully satisfied with what we do together.” I pause and stammer, “What I do with them, I mean. My victims.”

He shifts, then presses his fingers together in front of him. “And it bothers you that I might think you’re unsatisfied…”

I nod. “Yes.” Then I stop and shake my head. “I mean, no. I don’t care, I just—”

“Felix, you obviously care. You’re making a spectacle of it. Delaying our session, my research. Clearly, you’re upset that I might even consider your sex life less than magnificent.”

“Magnificent.” I scoff. “That’s a word choice, I guess.”

His lips do that nanosecond of a quirk. “You would describe it otherwise?”

Gritting my teeth together, I seethe, “You’re the one who can’t let this go now.”

“I’m just trying to figure you out, Felix,” he says evenly. “It’s why I’m here, remember?”

“Okay, okay, Jesus.” I roll my eyes. “You can record if it’s that important to you.”

“I don’t care about that right now.” He folds his hands on his lap. “I want to talk about your feelings regarding your sex life.”

“No.”

“Unfortunately, you don’t call the shots here. Now answer me. Why is it so important to you that I not judge your sexual dalliances with your victims?”

“Dalliances. Another interesting word.” I huff.

“You’re stalling, Felix.”

“You’re annoying, Doctor.”

Our eyes are locked in a battle of stubbornness, his rich bronze meeting my stormy gray while neither of us speaks another word and we just glare at each other. I can see him actively keeping his lips zipped together, and it’s boiling my blood for reasons unknown.

“You can’t win the silent treatment game with me,” I mumble. “I can go days without speaking if I need to.”

He simply cocks a brow at me.

God, this man is infuriating.

We sit in silence for almost five minutes until I flop backward on the couch. “Fuck, this is boring.” My head tilts in his direction. “You’re boring, you know that?” He doesn’t speak. “I’m sure you’ve heard it before.”

Silence.

My eyes go back to the ceiling. “Yea, I’m sure you hear it all the time. You’re probably really boring in the sack and that’s why you think I’m unsatisfied with my sex life. Because every woman you’ve ever slept with rushes to the bathroom afterward, vibrator in hand, ready to finish herself off.”

He keeps quiet and I peek at him, smirking. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Another minute of silence and finally he lets out a slow breath. “I never said you can’t experience pleasure, Felix. I know you can.”

My face springs in his direction. “What?”

His shoulder lifts in a bored shrug. “I’ve seen it.”

My heart comes to a screeching halt. The video of Templeton fucking me against my will…

So he did see it.

My stomach twists uncomfortably, heat rushing to my cheeks. “I didn’t want to like that…”

Dr. Love’s expression shifts. His eyes harden and one of his hands squeezes momentarily into a fist. “I know. But still… Your body reacted.”

“Yea… So?”

“What do you think that means?”

“What do you think it means?”

“I asked you first.” He gives me a pointed look that has me all tensed up with frustration. He’s annoying me on purpose.

“It means exactly what you said. That my body reacted.” I roll my eyes. “Not everything is emotional, Freud. Some things are strictly physical.”

“So you’re not attracted to Dr. Templeton?” he asks.

I snort out loud. “Is that a serious question?” He stares blankly at me. “He’s not my type, let’s just put it that way.”

Dr. Love nods as if he understands. And I’m about to lash out at him again, when I realize that he kind of does know my type. After all, I’ve been telling him all about Cameron and Emmanuel, and my other exes, all of whom were sort of similar. Not in looks, necessarily, but in personality.

“Okay, then,” he goes on. “If you’re so convinced that you’ve reached all levels of sexual gratification, prove it.” I give him an odd look. “Tell me about the best time you’ve ever had.”

I practically choke on the air in my lungs. “You want me to… do what?”

“Tell me about the best sex you’ve experienced.” He sits forward. “The most toe-curling, back-arching, muscle-straining, and skin-chafing orgasm for Felix Darcey. Or The Carver, whichever one of you had it best.”

I can’t even help how him saying those words, in that tone, looking the way he does, makes me wriggle like a worm on a hook. My balls throb, and I bite my lip to keep myself in check. It takes me a moment to even focus on what he’s asking of me. I’m too busy thinking about how he knows all those things…

I don’t think he’s as boring in bed as I was accusing him. Something tells me he’s a fucking powerhouse.

My fingers slide along the velvet as I remember the feel of his large body beneath mine right here on this couch last night. His pouty lips, the light scratch of his facial hair in my palm while I held his jaw.

I stifle a sound, clearing my throat to disguise it. “I, um… I remember one time. Number seventeen.” I pause with my neck on fire. Dr. Love doesn’t look the slightest bit affected by the conversation. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

His head tilts. “Why wouldn’t I? I asked.”

“But you’re obviously super straight,” I mutter. “You sure you want me to tell you all about my hottest gay sex experience?”

He squints at me. “Felix, what kind of homophobe do you think I am?”

“I didn’t mean that…”

“I’m your doctor. I’m here to learn from you, and I need to know all the aspects of your crimes. Also, you’ve told me in detail about your killings. What makes you think I’d be fine to listen to that, but not about you sleeping with another man?”

Point well made, Dr. Smartypants.

I gulp down the excess saliva in my mouth. “Well… Jax was the guy. Seventeen. I’d met him in the park, and he came home with me, like they usually did. We took a shower together, and he ate my ass for like a half hour. It was really the first time anyone had done that to me for an extended period of time.” I squirm. “I guess I liked it a lot.”

His gaze narrows. “You guess?”

“I did,” I correct myself. “And then I fucked him without a condom and came inside him. He was begging for it.”

Dr. Love’s finger twitches visibly. “Did you do that often? Have unprotected sex?”

“No,” I tell him honestly. “He told me he was good to go, so… we went. I don’t know… I knew I was going to kill him, so I guess I wasn’t really thinking about it.”

“You were already thinking about the kill? While you were having sex?”

I nod slowly and rasp, “Even before the sex.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Do you think that’s why you got off the way you did?”

I stare at him in silence for many heavy seconds before I nod again. No point in lying.

Instantly, his face is swept up in that fascinated expression again. The one that makes me feel both like a zoo attraction and a precious work of art, simultaneously. It’s strange, the contrast. I don’t know how he does it, but I think I like both.

Dr. Love’s eyes flick to the phone on the table, then back to mine. I can read his mind, the question he’s asking me in this moment. Can I?

So I nod, and he reaches over, pressing a button on the device to begin recording.

“Tell me about Jackson Whitney. Number seventeen. How did you kill him?”

“I strangled him with the cord from my phone charger.” I jump right into it. “And then I bashed his head on the side of the tub.” I pause, my eyes sticking with Dr. Love’s. “I sort of wish I hadn’t done that.”

“Why?”

“It was really messy. Got blood in all the crevices of my bathroom tiles. It took forever to clean.”

He blinks in silence, then asks, “What was the reason for the multiple methods? Strangulation, then bludgeoning… Why not just one?”

My mouth is really watering a lot right now. “With them, my exes, I really just wanted to make sure they were dead. And with Jax specifically, I got this urge to split his skull open. He had a really nice scalp…”

Dr. Love is leaning in so far, it looks like he might fall off his chair. Having his full attention like this gives me a warm fuzziness in my stomach, like I just downed a shot of strong liquor. And seeing those amber eyes lit up with intrigue… It makes me feel so special.

Superior. Godlike.

Felix Darcey getting The Carver’s praise.

I think he realizes that he’s practically foaming at the mouth, because he straightens a bit and clears his throat. “Were you hard?”

I stiffen. “Pardon?”

“Were you hard?” he repeats himself slowly, stone-faced and professional once more, even when asking about my dick. “While you were killing him…?”

It takes a moment, but I nod, uncertain. “I… I think so.”

“You don’t remember?” His brow arches.

My mind flashes back to the night I killed Jax. A slideshow of images flick through my brain…

His tongue in my ass. How it made my toes curl. The way he played with the rim with his finger, and I was sort of buzzing for him to go deeper, but he didn’t.

Him pulling me on top of him and wrapping his legs around me, begging for my bare cock in his ass.

He told me I had a really nice dick, and he wanted to feel all of it. So I pushed inside him and fucked him slow, but deep. I held his throat and imagined killing him right then. But I wanted to get him off first. I wanted to make him happy.

When we were done, I followed him into the bathroom and choked him until he collapsed.

And then I bashed his pretty skull against the porcelain.

I swallow thickly. “Yea… Yea, I was hard.”

Rushing blood and a rigidity in my pants brings my attention south. I bite my lip when I realize I’m hard now, too. It’s not tenting the material of my jumpsuit pants too much, but it’s definitely visible.

My eyes dart to Dr. Love and he seems to be noticing the same thing. When his gaze slides up from my visible erection to my face, I can feel the flush in my cheeks so strong, I have to close my eyes.

Just keep talking…

“I was still naked while I moved him into the tub.” My voice is hoarse, and each word seems to bring a new pulse to my thickening cock. “Sometimes I’d graze it on him… My erection. Just to feel his skin on me.”

I gulp, my breathing going shallow. My eyes are screwed shut, but I know Dr. Love is watching me. Staring with that stifling glare, assessing every visible inch of me like he’s done in the showers. I don’t need to see his face to know it’s unreadable. Stern and still.

I’m unaware of what he’s thinking while I’m baring all my demons to him. It’s very unsettling, but it doesn’t stop me from liking it. The discomfort.

I have his attention, even if it’s not positive.

“Then what?” His brogue thunders through the room, giving me chills. I can feel my hard nipples, sensitive to the cotton t-shirt I’m wearing. “Keep going.”

“In the bath, I sat with him,” I croak. “I used my favorite knife to slice his face and down his neck. I’d gotten pretty good at making straight lines in the skin. They were so perfect, and all you’d see were the slow dribbles of red… The blood rushing down his flesh.”

I suck in a breath, my cock jerking between my legs. The urge to cover it up is strong, but I don’t. I think I… want him to see it.

“Did you touch the blood?” he asks, the rumble growing a bit softer now.

“Yes.” I nod slowly as my balls ache.

“Did you rub yourself with it?”

I swear to God, it sounds like he’s edging me for more. Goading me to keep going, to show him how depraved I am.

I think he likes it.

“Yes.” My voice comes out like a soft moan.

And he’s quiet for a moment before he whispers, “Show me.”

My brain is all hazy. I can barely even tell if what’s happening right now is real. All I know is that there’s a winding inside me, like a rubber band wrapping up tighter and tighter. I’m used to letting it stretch, and then slowly easing it back. But this hunger, the furious craving this doctor seems to dredge up… It makes me want to yank that thing until it snaps.

I’m not sure if he’s actually asking me to jerk off in front of him. But I will, if there’s even the slightest chance this is what he wants.

My right hand glides down my abs, but he barks, “Slowly.” So I slow it down, casually playing with the hair of my happy trail beneath the fabric before slinking just one finger into the waistband of my pants and the boxers he got me.

I remember cupping Jax’s rushing blood in my palm, rubbing it all over my chest and abs. I lift my shirt with my other hand, brushing a thumb over my nipple.

I don’t know what Dr. Love is doing. I refuse to open my eyes. But I hear him moving subtly. Probably just straightening in his chair.

My own breathing is loud, heavy panting as my fingers run down to my erection, and I make a fist around it.

“What else did you do with Jackson in the tub, Felix?” he asks, his voice sounding like silk draped over his soft, dark flesh; his curves of immaculate muscle.

“I… I put my dick in his mouth,” I confess, stroking. “Just a little.”

“Did you come?”

A shivering groan escapes me, and I nod. “Not fully. Some precum came out.”

“You were very excited?” His words are inviting, urging me on.

“Yes…” I bite my lip, pulling at my cock slowly.

“Mmm… sounds like it. What happened next?”

My hand rests on my erection while I tell him, “I laid with him in the tub for a while. Just touching. And then I used the bone saw to cut him up into pieces.”

“Do you like that part, too?” he asks curiously.

My throat dips with a swallow. “It’s a lot of work. It’s very hard and time-consuming.”

“That’s not an answer to my question,” Dr. Love rumbles.

I go still for a few seconds before murmuring, “Yes. I like that part, too.”

“What do you like about it?” he asks, his tone simply intrigued. I hear no judgement coming from him. It’s interesting; comforting in a way I’ve never experienced.

“It’s methodical,” I answer. “I turn up the Depeche Mode and get to work. It feels like… something I’m good at.”

The room is quiet for a moment. All I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears, and my own unsteady breathing.

“You’re still hard, Felix,” he says, a simple statement.

My fingers dance along my solid flesh. “Uh-huh.”

“Do you make yourself come when you kill?” I shake my head hesitantly. “Why not?”

“I’m not one for… self-gratification. I like to get off with my partners, and I like the feeling of being aroused, but… I don’t know…”

“Why do you think you prefer not to come?” he asks, with something like compassion buried within the layers of his robotic tone.

“I don’t—”

“First thing that comes to mind,” he insists.

Without even thinking, I answer, “Because when I come, it’s over.”

We’re both silent while the words hang in the air. Wow… he’s good.

“Felix…” He growls my name, and it’s so sexy my cock leaps in my palm.

“Doctor…”

“Keep moving your hand.”

Against my will, my eyes creep open and I peer at him. He’s still just sitting in his chair, watching me. But his legs are parted a bit more than usual. I wonder if it’s because he’s getting turned on…

No way. He’s straight, remember?

This is all just an experiment to him.

But still, I latch onto the idea that this is what he wants. And even though coming is never usually at the forefront of my thoughts or actions, right now my loins are on fire and my balls are tight with the need to drain out an orgasm.

So I do as he says and stroke, leisurely tugging my cock while my heart leaps in my chest. Our eyes remain locked while I jerk myself off, the feeling causing me to expel a ragged breath.

“I want you to give yourself an orgasm, Felix,” he urges, low and growly.

“Why?” I gasp, pumping my fist up and down the inches of my cock, which is now sticking halfway out of my pants.

“Because it’s important for my research,” he mumbles. “Go slower, but hard. Make your fist tight.”

“Is that h-how you’d do it?” I stammer under his burning gaze.

The mound of his Adam’s apple dips in his throat. “It’s how I know you’ll like it.”

“You know what I like…” It’s meant to be a snippy question, but it comes out more like a whimpering statement. Because yea… I think he might know exactly what I’d like.

“I’m getting to know you, Felix.” He shifts in his seat, eyes staying with mine. “There’s a reason why I wrote those things in my notes.” My hand slows, but he says, “Keep going. Do not stop until you’re coming on your stomach, got it?”

My eyelids droop, head tipping back as I groan, “I want to come for you.”

“I don’t care about your pleasure, Felix,” he hisses. “This is work. Do what I say and keep fucking your hand slowly.”

“Yes, sir.” My lips are shivering, pleasure vibrating through every inch of me.

I’ve never been one to need orgasms, but something about Dr. Love makes me insatiable. In the past, sex has been a way to connect, to find the affection I crave. But when I’m near him, I find myself craving a release with him. Something for him to drive me toward, with his large hands on my body, his soft lips on mine. His tongue just… everywhere.

“Will you do it for me?” I peek at him, pleading with a look.

His jaw tightens. “This isn’t about sexual interaction, Felix. This is about self-satisfaction.” His eyes dip. “What about your nipples? Do you like to stimulate them?”

“Fuck yea,” I purr, touching my nipple with my left hand while the right strokes, balls to tip. Some precum leaks from the crown and I swirl my thumb over it.

“Taste yourself,” Dr. Love demands, and I bring my thumb up to my mouth, sucking off my own flavor, keeping my eyes on his all the while. His head cocks. “How do you taste?”

“Come over here and find out,” I whimper. He shakes his head sternly. My eyes fall to my cock, solid and bobbing on my abs, leaking precum and making a sticky mess. “I won’t tell anyone. Just try it once… Please, Dr. Want.”

“Stop calling me that,” he seethes. “I told you, I’m not putting my hands on you.”

My stomach drops. “You mean like Templeton did?”

Our gazes hold on to one another while he says, “This is my research, and it’s much more important than theirs. Do you understand?”

I nod slowly.

“Good. Now, stroke faster and get yourself off. I don’t have all day.”

My lips quiver through a ragged exhale. God, something about the steely, uninterested attitude just drives me nuts. He’s such a detached asshole. I have no idea why I like it, but all I can think about right now is getting him on top of me.

So I close my eyes and imagine.

Dr. Love stands up from his seat, the impressive outline of his massive cock showing itself through his tailored pants. He steps over to the couch and crawls over me. And I grab him by the dreads and push that grumpy mouth down on my aching—

“What are you thinking about?” he asks calmly. As if I’m not lying on a couch in his office jerking off while he watches.

“You,” I tell him honestly.

“What about me?”

“I’m imagining your mouth on my dick…”

He huffs an almost-laugh. “I assure you, that will never happen.”

“Mmm… right. I forgot you’re straight.” My back arches while I sidle up to the edge of my climax. I peer at him. “Yet you want me to come. You want to know all about how hard my dick gets when I kill people.” His eyes are shooting flames of fury at me right now. But I can’t stop. The angry look on his face is going to get me off very fucking soon. “I think it’s because you like it. The wicked, the twisted… the depraved. I think that’s what gets you hard, Dr. Love.”

I can see the wrath burning inside him at my words. But he stows it and gives me one of his smug looks. “And you know what I think, Felix? I think I was right. You’ve never been truly satisfied, no matter how much you tell yourself you are.” He stands up slowly and my face follows him, my hand still vigorously stroking my cock. “Because deep down, what you really want is to be used by the person whose attention you could never hold.”

I chomp down on my lip to keep in the desperate groans while he steps up to the edge of the couch. My vision gets swimmy, every muscle in my body bunching up, coiled and seconds from release.

He leans over me. “That’s what you want, isn’t it, Felix? To be bent over and split in half by someone just like your father…”

My lashes flutter, my lips part, and my hand pumps faster and faster, stroking it out…

“Fuck fuck fuck,” I gasp.

“Show me how you come, you sick little monster,” he snarls.

And I erupt.

Streams of cum pulse from my cock, soaking my abs while the world tilts on its axis. My head is all cloudy, and I think I’m saying words, but I can barely understand myself.

They’re echoing around us.

Yes. Yes yes yes… you’re right. God, fuck me… I want you… to… fuck… me.

I’m squirming in delectable agony for what feels like hours, my balls thrumming, lips trembling. I’ve never had an orgasm like that… Especially from myself.

When I make myself come, it’s purely mechanical. I get in and get out. This was an entirely different experience.

Dr. Love talking me through orgasms is my new favorite thing.

Blinking up at him, I find his usual demeanor fully back in place. He’s standing above me, observing me like a snake in a tank who just molted.

My breathing evens out and I lick my lip, gazing at him. I know it’s bad, but I can see hearts floating around his head.

This is so wrong. He’s officially the last person I should be crushing on. But now I don’t see how I could stop.

“Use your t-shirt to clean yourself up,” he commands firmly. “I’ll have a new one brought to you.”

“D-do I get to sleep in here again?” I ask quietly. With you…?

“You’re going back to your cell,” he says, then picks up his phone from the table and stalks over to his desk.

Oh, shit… I forgot that was recording. Jesus Christ, now they have two different recordings of me having orgasms. What if they sell them??

Not like it matters.

Sitting up slowly, I tug my t-shirt over my head and use it to wipe the cum off myself.

“I’m—”

“Hungry. Yea, I assumed you’d say that.” He finishes my thought before I can even get it out. “I’ll have them bring you lunch as well.”

The air in the room is heavy with some sort of awkward tension, but it seems like it’s only coming from me. I wish I could channel my inner Carver right now, but I’m feeling like nothing but Felix Darcey.

The lonely, invisible loser.

Standing up on wobbly legs, I toss my dirty t-shirt on the floor. Dr. Love’s eyes spring up to mine. “I hope you got what you wanted.”

They narrow. “More or less.”

There’s so much I want to say, but I’m conflicted. I can’t tell if I want to scream in his face or cling to him and never let go. I want to know more about him, because now this is all feeling so very one-sided.

He claims he’s not like Johansson and Templeton, but he’s exactly the same. Here simply to stick me in a glass jar and poke me like a test subject. Then stuff me back into my box.

I’m not important to him. I’m just a case. A number.

Another serial killer statistic.

My lips part to say some of these things, but a knock at the door signals the guard is here to bring me back. Officer Peters shuffles in, looking stressed, and without a word, shackles my ankles and cuffs my wrists.

He drags me out of Dr. Love’s office, and even though I can’t stop staring at the man who just flipped me upside down, he doesn’t look at me once.

I’m leaving the prison when my phone rings.

It takes me a moment to zone back in on reality and pull it out of my pocket. I have no numbers saved into this thing, but I recognize it as Manuel Blanco’s assistant, Yari’s number.

“Lemuel Love,” I answer, walking the short path from the side exit to the black SUV that’s waiting to drive me back to the mansion.

“Doctor! Good evening.” Yari’s pleasant voice comes over the receiver and it grates my nerves for some reason. What’s there to be enthusiastic about, anyway? “I have an invitation for you.”

I stop walking. “Invitation…?”

“Yes, sir. The Ivory would like you to join him for dinner tonight. A bit overdue,” he adds, chuckling, “But nonetheless.”

I’m frozen, sort of just staring at the back of the SUV parked and running a few feet in front of me. I don’t know that I want to have dinner with The Ivory… especially after what I did with Felix.

Giving him the keys, I mean.

Velle’s words ring in my head. You’re the Warden’s problem now…

I’ve been dreading running into Manuel Blanco for the last three days, since Felix caused a ruckus because of my experiment. As far as my job goes—the job he hired me to do—I’m not worried. But with what I know about Manuel Blanco from my limited research, it seems like his response could go in many different directions.

Unpredictable makes me nervous.

“Doctor?” Yari chirps in my ear and I shake myself out of it.

“Uh, yes. Sorry. I’ll be back at the mansion in five minutes.” I pick back up walking to the SUV, where Kent hops out and opens the door for me to climb in. “Should I just meet him in the dining room, or…?”

Yari chuckles again. “I think we can do a little better than that, Doctor. Take your time getting dressed. Kent will bring you up to the roof at eight.”

“The roof?” I ask, my eyes flinging to Kent, who’s jumping back into the driver’s seat and driving away.

Yari already hung up.

Taking in a long breath, I hold it for a moment, then release it slowly as Kent drives us along the stretch of road parallel to the ocean. Looking out the window, I watch the waves crash up along the stone that separates us from the sea. It could easily be overwhelming, thinking about how far away we are from the rest of civilization. How close we are to open water, surrounded by it on all sides. Trapped.

Honestly, I don’t mind it much. I try not to consider the fact that Manuel Blanco controls the only means off this island. And that if he’s pissed about what I did, I’m basically a sitting duck.

Squeezing my hand into a fist, I dispel that thought. I need to remain confident in my work. That’s the thing about doing what I do; about studying in this fashion, using unconventional methods. You have to hold firm, even when other people scoff at you, or especially when you piss them off. The second you show any kind of doubt in yourself, they’ll pounce.

I’m not doubting what I’m doing here. This is the research I’ve been wanting to do since I was much younger. Since the desire to study the human mind was nothing but a spark in my own thoughts.

My hand lifts to my throat, fingers grazing the rugged skin.

“Lemuel, you’re best bet would be to forget about it all and move on.” My father’s voice echoes off the walls of my mind.

“Put it behind you,” my mother had said. “Don’t dwell on what you can’t change.”

I scoff out loud, my eyes springing to the rearview mirror to see if Kent is paying attention to me. He’s not.

I wonder what my parents would think about the research I’m doing here. I can only imagine how much they would complain. How little they would understand. I can almost hear it…

You’re living on a secluded island amongst a herd of psychopaths?? How is any of that beneficial to your career?

What kind of job requires you to watch a serial killer have an orgasm??

Felix pops into my brain. The image of him with his head tipped back, writhing on the couch while he—

I push away the memory. No time to think about that right now. I’ll listen to the tape later and take some notes for my assessment. Because that’s what it was. Work.

It was nothing, really. Just a different form of a session. Truth be told, I’m learning a lot about Felix, and observing him while he jerks himself off is just as helpful as sitting there talking to him, like I have been since I got here.

Of course, there will be awkward moments during any form of sexual research or sex therapy. It’s inevitable. It’s only natural for me to feel tense watching him stroke his erection and bite his lip to contain his little moans. Especially knowing that he was thinking about me…

I rub my eyes hard with my fingers. Felix’s hyperactive drive for affection is inconvenient for me. I don’t need him hitting on me constantly while I’m trying to work, and I definitely don’t need him feeling like we’re in some sort of relationship. It will make things even more difficult for him when I eventually finish this job and leave.

An odd lump forms in the back of my throat and I swallow it down while Kent parks in front of the mansion and gets out to open my door.

“I’ll come to fetch you in a few hours, Dr. Love,” he tells me as I walk toward the white marble steps leading up to the mansion’s front door.

“Very good, Kent. Did you get those new clothes to Felix’s cell?”

He nods. “Yes, sir. It’s all taken care of.”

I nod to him in thanks while entering through the giant brushed bronze doors. But then I come to a skidding halt in the foyer when I almost run right into one of the guards.

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” He fumbles, jumping back.

“No trouble,” I say, only because he looks very upset.

This one officer I haven’t dealt with much. His name is Harley Samuels, but they call him Rook. He doesn’t come down to the East Wing often. I only know who he is because he’s brought food to Felix a few times. And I’ve tried to make a habit of learning all the guards’ names since I arrived, whether I deal with them frequently or not.

Even if you didn’t know about his nickname, you could probably easily tell that Harley is the new guy. He has this air of innocence about him that none of the other officers possess. They’re all visibly jaded from doing this job for so long. And not that I understand the circumstances surrounding their employment here, but based on the files I have access to, none of them are exactly on this island by choice.

It seems to be a tactic of Manuel Blanco’s. Keep dirt on your employees, whether it’s blackmail, limiting their abilities to work elsewhere, or keeping your thumb on the people who matter most to them. He traps them here, holds them under the influence with the parties, the sex and drugs, then forces them to give up hope.

He’s hardened them into the perfect army of near-rabid guard dogs. It’s smart… But part of me wonders how long something like this will last. After all, even the most loyal animal, when cornered, will eventually lash out at its master.

Harley Samuels weaves around me and peeks out the front door, as if he’s looking for someone. Or waiting for someone. But when he sees that no one else is out there, his shoulders slump and he lets out a breath of defeat.

I go to turn away, toward my side of the mansion, but his voice stops me. “Doctor, um… You haven’t by any chance… seen Officer Chevelle over there, have you? On that side…?”

His mossy green eyes are so wide and hopeful, I almost feel bad crushing him with my answer. But it’s the truth, so I have to shake my head.

“I’m sorry. No.”

He swallows visibly and nods, hopeless gaze going to the floor. “Thanks, anyway.”

And then he turns and staggers away, stomping up all the many stairs to the top floor. I stand there and watch him until he disappears up the corridor of their wing and out of view. I’m not one to typically feel sympathy for others, but Harley Samuels does genuinely seem like a nice person. A country boy turned New York’s finest, he’s the only one out of all the guards who gives me legitimate cop vibes. In fact, I think he’s the only one of them who was actually a police officer. Officer Josh Peters, the guard I probably associate with most, has a military background. I think a few of them do. But Samuels is the only cop.

The rest of them have been hand-picked and tailor-made into soldiers that fit The Ivory’s mold. And none more than Officer John Chevelle.

I haven’t seen him since the other day, when he attacked me and Felix in my office, and I know I should be glad, since we’ve never had great interactions. But I can’t stop thinking about how distraught Velle was over Felix’s actions. He didn’t really seem to care about O’Malley’s death specifically, but more so how it would affect him. And I’m sure he’s blamed me, which will make dinner with the Warden tonight interesting.

Still, I recall later that night, when I’d walked down to the cell O’Malley had been in and it was completely cleaned up. Body gone and reeking of bleach. And I couldn’t help but wonder if it had been Velle who’d taken care of it.

Are the guards the ones who clean up the messes on this island? And if the world already thinks these prisoners are dead, then what does it all mean?

Pushing away those musings for another time, I wander up the stairs. I stop on the large steps at my floor, eyes going up to the top, where The Ivory lives.

And a chill sheets my exposed skin.

Hours later, I’m showered and dressed in my best clothes.

I would never admit that I’m nervous, but I am. I’m unsure what this dinner will consist of, because I find Manuel Blanco to be a very elusive person. I’ve only really interacted with him once, the day I got here. Spoken with him on the phone a few times, and I email him my Darcey research findings every few days. Outside of that, I know very little about him, and I’m not sure how much we have in common.

My social anxiety will be put to the test tonight. I don’t really drink, but I might need to have a couple for this.

Walking over to the mirror, I fiddle with my dreadlocks and smooth out my freshly trimmed facial hair. I run my hands over my button-down, blinking at myself in the mirror.

My fingers lift to the collar of my shirt, and I tug it to cover my scars.

A knock at the door has me letting out a breath. “It’s open.”

The door cracks and Kent pops his head in. “Ready, sir?”

I nod, taking one last look at myself before following him out of the room. He brings me up the stairs to the third level, and then down a small corridor that leads to a single door at the end. He opens it and motions for me to go in first, which I do. We ascend a winding staircase to another door, push it open, and at last, I find myself outside, on what I’m guessing is the roof, based on what Yari said earlier.

I peek at Kent, who nods for me to walk. I wander out onto the large flat space, the cool ocean air whipping around my face. There are yellow lines painted on the surface of the roof, immediately realizing why when I hear a helicopter in the distance.

I have to admit, this is not at all what I expected when they said dinner.

The helicopter flies over and slowly lands in front of me, brushing me with even more cold air. I’m suddenly wishing I wore my coat, even though it’s been a bit too warm for it recently. Once the helicopter has touched down, Kent rushes to open the door. He motions me over and I make my way through the flutters of wind from the propellers, climbing up and into the aircraft. I’ve never actually flown in one of these before, but the pilot hands me some cans to put over my ears, then instructs me on how to secure the safety belt.

I’m just sitting here, basically vibrating with nervous expectation for five minutes before I see Kent ushering Manuel Blanco over. His porcelain white hair is mussed up from the winds as he climbs inside the helicopter, taking a seat directly across from me. He offers me a small grin while getting himself strapped in.

Kent closes the door, and the pilot asks, “All good to go, sir?”

To which The Ivory waves a hand in his direction. Apparently, that’s all the response he needs. And we lift off the roof, floating up into the air.

I can’t help how my wide eyes stick to the window, watching in fascination as we fly over the open water.

“How are you, Doctor?” Manuel Blanco’s voice comes into my ears clearly through the headsets we’re wearing.

My face shifts and I find him watching me curiously. “I’m well, thank you.”

His grin widens. “I hope you’re hungry.”

I simply nod, watching him while he stares at me. He’s dressed impeccably, just like the last time I saw him. I think it’s safe to say he always dresses to the nines. He’s in another three-piece suit tonight, similar to the one he was wearing when I met him. They’re not your regular ensembles, either. The fabric of his black jacket has some shimmer to it, as if it’s made from the finest material. And every detail is intricate, down to his silk purple and gray pocket square, which exactly matches his dress socks that I can see when he crosses his ankle over his knee, making himself comfortable.

I must say, he’s a fascinating man. The bright white hair, which almost makes him look like he should be albino, though his eyes are dark, almost black, and while his complexion is pale, it’s not quite white enough. Still, the hair is interesting, because observing him, there’s no possible way he’s more than fifty years old. And even that’s a stretch.

He’s very tall, and lean, and his angles are sharp. Plainly put, he doesn’t look like he should be operating a run-down prison in the middle of the ocean…

Or maybe that’s exactly how he looks.

We ride in silence for about thirty-minutes. I spend the entire trip staring out the window, watching the ocean ripple beneath us while wondering what in the world I’m going to talk about with this man for an entire meal. When the helicopter finally touches down, we’re in Manhattan. A large man in a black suit is waiting to help us down from the aircraft and guide us into a black SUV, the same kind of ones we use on the island.

Settled in the backseat, Manuel Blanco asks, “Was that your first time riding in a helicopter?” I nod and he huffs an entertained chuckle. “Good. I always enjoy being someone’s first.”

Ignoring that comment, I say, “I assumed we would have dinner in the mansion…”

“Oh, no, no.” He shakes his head vehemently. “I come into Manhattan as often as possible. Otherwise, I would go a little cuckoo.”

I peer at him, giving him a surprised look.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love the mansion,” he adds. “Have you enjoyed your stay so far?”

“Yes. It’s a very… extravagant place.”

He chuckles again. “You’re only just getting to know me, Doctor. I’m an extravagant person.” He winks at me.

My head cocks at him. And we ride the rest of the way in more tense silence.

Ten minutes later, the driver parks in front of a restaurant called Casa Mono and lets us out. I follow Manuel Blanco inside, and he seems to know the manager or the owner or someone, because a man comes over gushing, then brings us to the best mesa en la casa, according to him.

We have a seat, and once we’re settled, Manuel lifts a light eyebrow at me. “Do you prefer wine or something harder?”

My lips part, but it takes me a moment of thought. I rarely drink, so I just mutter, “Whatever you suggest.”

He nods, business-like, and signals our waiter, who seems to be hovering nearby, anxiously awaiting The Ivory’s attention. “We’ll begin with the Tempranillo. The one that I had last weekend. You remember, Javier, yes?”

“Si, si, of course, Señor Blanco.” The waiter nods enthusiastically. “I’ll bring it right away.”

I can’t help but watch all of this in minute fascination. Sure, I have money, and my family grew up pretty well-off. I mean, we’re all doctors. And I’m no stranger to benefits and galas, bougie restaurants and affluence.

But this seems to be a different ballgame. I feel like I’m having dinner with Ray Liotta in Goodfellas. Which would make me Lorraine Bracco, and I’m not sure how I feel about that…

Manuel Blanco lets out a breath. “Well, here we are. I’m glad we’re finally able to do this. I must apologize for my absence since your arrival. I’m sure you can imagine how demanding my position is…”

I nod. “Yes, of course.”

His head tilts. “And also, I don’t like to micromanage, which I feel as though you’ll appreciate. It’s one of the reasons I hired you, after all. You require very little direction. Or supervision.”

His eyes seem to narrow a bit, and I’m instantly on edge. Is he referring to what happened with Felix? Are we just cutting straight to the chase?

“You’re correct, Mr. Blanco,” I tell him, keeping my tone firm and rife with blithe confidence.

His hand flutters. “Please. Call me Manuel.” I nod in agreement. “I must say, I’m quite pleased to have you here, Doctor.”

He stares at me for a moment, and while I’d prefer to be called Doctor, I assume he’d also rather be called The Ivory. So I say, “Call me Lem.”

A smile pulls at his lips. “You see, Lem, I require employees whom I can trust to run the operation for me. I need to know that my staff will act on my behalf.”

“Like Officer Chevelle?” I ask.

His eyes do something strange. They darken even further, which I didn’t think was possible, also somehow hardening and softening at the same time. It’s an interesting thing to witness.

His throat dips in a visible swallow. “Officer Chevelle is almost a perfect example of what I expect from my officers. Almost.” His gaze goes far off for a moment, as if he’s considering something. Then he comes back to me. “He’s the perfect henchman. But of course, he’s still human. He makes mistakes.” He pauses and zeroes in on me. “As we all do.”

It’s my turn to swallow. He’s definitely talking about Felix now.

The waiter returns with our bottle of wine, making a show of opening it and pouring some for Manuel to sip. He nods with very little excitement, much to the chagrin of the eager waiter, who pours us each a glass and mumbles, “Any ideas for tonight, Señor Blanco?”

Manuel looks at me, and my eyes drop to the menu. I haven’t even glanced at it yet.

“Any food allergies?” he asks me, and I shake my head. He plucks the menu out of my hand, handing it, with his, to the waiter. “We’ll both have the paella.”

“Muy bien, Señor,” the waiter says, scurrying off.

Manuel folds his hands on the table, placing his full attention on me. “I enjoy the food here, but it’s nothing like what I grew up with.”

“Are you from Spain?” I ask, even though I know he isn’t. My research told me he was born and raised in Cartagena.

“No, no.” He chuckles. “I’m Colombian. Unfortunately, the best Colombian restaurants in the city are more like holes in the wall. Don’t get me wrong, I find my way there during most of my trips into Manhattan. But for dinners like this, I prefer something more upscale.”

“Dinners like this?” I repeat his words, an uneasy pit forming in my stomach.

Manuel Blanco picks up his glass of wine, swirling it for a moment before taking a sip. “I would like to get to know you better, Lem. Because as much as I know you can be left alone to do your job, I don’t really know you. I would like not to be surprised by the things you do again.”

I shift. “If you’re referring to what Felix did, I assure you that experiment was hugely beneficial to my research—”

“Lem, please.” He holds his hand up. “I’m not mad.” He pauses and I let out a silent breath. “Am I thrilled to have lost two inmates in one day? Of course not. Am I filled with pure rage at the idea that my most recent addition, one who was sent specifically to me from Governor Russo to keep a very special eye on, is now out in the world somewhere, roaming around like a free animal? Yes. Very much.”

His dark eyes narrow on me, and I remind myself to stand my ground. Don’t let him intimidate you. “Manuel, I understand your frustrations, I do.”

“Do you?” he growls.

Gulping, I retort assertively, “I can empathize.” He nods subtly. “But I am promising you, this is all a very important part of my research. You’ve seen the assessments. What I’m gaining from him… It’s unrivaled.”

“Hmm… yes.” He rubs his chin. “Sometimes I resent that the world thinks he’s dead. We could make some real money with the things he’s been confessing to you.”

I don’t care about money. “Yes, well, all that aside, I’m on the verge of some groundbreaking work. My experiments are unorthodox, yes, but you knew these were my interests when you hired me.”

He stares at me for a moment before mumbling, “Yes, I suppose I did.”

“And truth be told, it’s not like you haven’t had casualties before with Johansson’s team. I read the file on Henry Landon. He swallowed his tongue after being dosed with exorbitant levels of LSD against his knowledge by Dr. Templeton.”

“Yes, yes, well, honestly, I’m much less concerned about the death of Kieran O’Malley than I am about Dascha Reznikov’s escape.” He sips his wine, then lets out a frustrated breath.

“Sure… that makes sense.” I take a large gulp of my own.

“But it’s alright, Lem.” He sighs. “Like I said, I’m not mad. And trust me, if I want Dascha back, I’ll find a way to get him.”

My brows zip together. “You know where he is?”

His jaw clenches visibly. “I will.”

I nod in agreement, because he’s getting a little scary right now, and I’d prefer to go back to him talking about how he isn’t mad.

“Let’s just leave it at this, Lemuel.” He leans in on the table. “Felix Darcey is to remain in my custody, no matter what. That’s the only stipulation I’ll put on your research.” He glares at me, and my chin bobs. “Everything else is up to you. But just remember, Dascha was very important to me… But The Carver is my most prized possession. If anyone tries to take him from me, they will meet my unprofessional side. Do you understand?”

“I do,” I tell him sincerely.

His face morphs from quiet simmering fury to pleasant dinner guest in the blink of an eye and he smirks. “Wonderful.” He lifts his glass for us to toast, which I follow him in doing. “Here’s to a mutually beneficial working relationship. And to Felix Darcey, and his severely corrupted mind.”

Something in what he’s said feels off, but I ignore it and clink anyway, taking a sip while watching him over the rim of my glass.

Manuel Blanco seems very much in his element right now. And I’m beginning to think he’s always like this. He’s like one of those villains from movies. The ones who somehow do every single thing right; who live and breathe evil, but make it look good. And easy.

Leaning back casually in his chair, he says, “Take care of him, Lem. I’m telling you, based on what I’ve seen so far from the research, yours and Johansson’s respectively, he really seems to have taken a shine to you. Your performance with him has been exceptional, and we’ve only just begun. Keep up the excellent work. Without allowing him to set my other inmates free, of course.”

He rumbles a laugh and I nod, expelling a breath that’s not quite a laugh, but as close to a fake one as I feel necessary. The way he’s speaking also reminds me that this job is open-ended. The contract I signed has me at a minimum of four weeks, but after that it’s up to my own discretion.

However long I wish to stay on Alabaster Isle.

“That is something I wanted to mention,” I interject. He makes a motion that says by all means. “Dr. Johansson and his… ensemble. I appreciate to no end how you’ve instructed them to yield to me and my research. But still, I wonder about their… qualifications.”

My mind drifts to the video of Templeton performing sexual stimulations on Felix and my fist tightens beneath the table.

Manuel’s pale eyebrows slope together. “You were given their individual files, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was. But I just mean… I believe that some of their work could be directly harmful to my research. I just wonder if maybe they wouldn’t be better suited to other patients…”

“Lem, don’t worry so much.” He smirks, swirling his wine around and around. “They’ll do whatever you want them to. You’re in charge here. But make no mistake, their methods shall continue.” He takes a sip. “I thought you would appreciate the way they work. Being that so much of how they operate is similar to your research in Beneficial Brainwashing.”

It takes all of my strength not to roll my eyes. “Well, yes, that’s true. But that book was written under the guise that each patient is vastly different. Plus, I explored a lot of theories in the book. That doesn’t mean I choose to utilize them all…”

“You’re such a doctor.” Manuel shows me a dazzling smile. “You all despise working in tandem, don’t you?” I make a face and he chuckles. “Lighten up, Lem. Felix is yours, you know that. Work with him however you see fit.” He tilts his head. “Just remember who’s examining whom.”

My face goes still, my muscles tensing in defense of what he’s saying. “I assure you, I’m in complete control.”

His lips curve pleasantly. “Good.”

At that moment, our food arrives and he claps. “Ah! Perfect, gracias, Javier. Bueno, bueno. Huele delicioso.”

The conversation pauses while we eat. The food is spectacular, the wine so complimentary of the flavors I find myself polishing off three glasses. I wouldn’t call myself drunk, but I am a lightweight, so I have a nice buzz going. And by the time we’re finishing dessert, we’ve killed two bottles between the two of us.

We only really speak about work, but it somehow doesn’t feel like it. I tell him all about med school, about my work with Trevel, and how this job is something I’ve always wanted to do. And he tells me about how important Alabaster Isle is to him.

When I ask him about how the island came about, he gives me the standard answer. The same one that Yari gave me before I got here. That between a handful of government officials who keep their involvement very hush-hush, and himself, with some helpful funding from Colombia—I know he means the cartel, though he never actually uses that word—they were able to build Alabaster Penitentiary and the Ivory Mansion. He tells me that the prison was originally designed as an asylum of sorts, but it shifted gears toward the beginning. But that explains the difference between the East Wing and the rest of the Pen.

I tell him that I think it’s interesting how the East is kept very much separate from the rest of the prison. Even the guards rarely come to the East… It’s mainly frequented by Johansson and his guys, and the orderlies.

And he says, “It’s done for a reason. I prefer to keep the sides apart. It’s better for business.”

I’m intrigued about what business he’s referring to, but I don’t ask. I keep my interest strictly on my side of the operation. Mainly because it’s all I was hired for, but also because I don’t want him thinking I’m someone to watch out for. Someone who’s looking for information so I can spill it.

Overall, the dinner is pleasant. My guard is up—I refuse to let it down around someone like him, knowing what kind of man he is—but I can’t deny that he’s delightful company.

He’s polite, charming, and intelligent. Inquisitive, and not one of those rich, powerful men who pretends to know everything. When I mention something he isn’t familiar with, his eyes go wide and he sits patiently, absorbing the information I provide.

It has me wondering about the difference between Manuel Blanco and The Ivory. Reminding me of the blatant differences between Felix Darcey and his alter ego, The Carver.

Do all sociopaths have two distinct parts to their personalities? Maybe more? Or is this something specific to these men…

If so, do they realize how similar they are?

Manuel has just paid the bill, and now he’s on his phone while I fidget in place. I haven’t used my regular cell phone since the day I arrived on Alabaster Isle. One of the stipulations in my contract was limited contact with anyone from my life. They allowed me to keep my phone, but it stays in a drawer in my room. I use the work phone if I need something.

Manuel checks his watch. “I need to get back. I have something waiting for me.” The way his eyes seem to sparkle at this makes me think it’s personal. He peeks at me. “But you’re welcome to stay in the city if you like. I have a penthouse on reserve at the Plaza. I can send the helicopter for you in the morning…”

Considering this offer, a strange homesick feeling grips my insides. It’s subtle, but oddly enough, I feel like I need to get back, too.

I know I should take advantage of being off that desolate island for the night… Stay in the lavish penthouse suite. Maybe find a gorgeous woman to keep me company. At this point, it’s been weeks since the last time I got laid, and I’m feeling the burn just a bit. I know Manhattan would be the perfect place to pick someone up for some casual stress-relief.

But then the idea of it doesn’t quite sit right. I find myself wanting to get back to my research. Back to Felix…

Call it my workaholic nature. That sounds accurate.

I shake my head. “That’s a generous offer, Manuel. But I think I’d like to get back. I have a lot of work to do.”

He releases another wide smile. “I knew hiring you was the right choice.”

We both stand and walk out of the restaurant, Manuel being called here and there like he’s some kind of celebrity.

As we make our way to the exit, he turns over his shoulder and says, “But you know that if you need anything, Kent will get it for you, yes? I mean, anything. Living away from the rest of the world can become… isolating.” I raise my brows at him. “Even my officers get to let loose when they need it. Blow off steam.” He smirks. “It’s necessary.”

I simply nod. “I understand. And yes, Kent has been great.”

“I mean it,” he goes on while we hop into the car. “Pick your poison and it’s yours. We don’t judge on the Isle.” He winks.

Right… I think I got it.

I purse my lips. “I appreciate it, Manuel. But this job is very important to me. Right now, it’s all I’m concerned with.”

He huffs another small laugh, shaking his head. “Doctors.”

Then he buries his face in his phone while I gaze out the window.

Less than an hour later, I’m walking into the Ivory Mansion by the side of The Ivory himself, which feels strange. Though he’s not really paying me much attention.

He seems like he’s on a mission. Eager to get somewhere. And that somewhere must be up on his floor, because he makes an immediate beeline to the stairs and takes them two at a time while calling to Kent over his shoulder.

“No disturbances.”

And then he vanishes, and I’m left standing around in the dark foyer.

It’s after midnight, but I’m not tired. The sounds of a party are bumping subtly from the guards’ quarters. I wonder what they’re getting up to up there…

Letting out a sigh, I head for the stairs on the right side of the mansion, making my way up to my floor. Maybe I’ll go work out. There’s almost no way any of the guards are in the gym right now. I’ll have it to myself, which is my favorite thing.

In my room, I get changed into fitted sweats and a sleeveless workout shirt, tying my dreads back. Then I head downstairs, but I pause in the foyer. It’s such a nice night… Maybe I should go for a run instead.

I leave the mansion through one of the side doors that brings you out into a bunch of trees. Spotting the staff house up ahead, I jog, leaves and pine needles crunching beneath my Nikes. I stay on the path for a bit, weaving in between trees while I warm up. But once my heart rate picks up, so does my pace. I jog faster past staff housing and around toward the ocean. When I reach the shore, I run on the sand, following it as it wraps around the outside of the mansion.

There’s a small dock over here which I’ve never seen before. Slowing down while I jog by it, I observe a little boathouse, with no visible boat inside. Hmm. Weird.

My feet carry me faster, picking up speed as my sneakers imprint on the wet sand. I can see a large balcony overlooking the ocean from the highest floor of the mansion. That must be Manuel’s floor.

What a view.

As I’m running, cool ocean air hitting my face, I disappear into my thoughts. I begin sorting through the events of tonight, the things Manuel Blanco and I spoke about, and my overall assessments of him. I know he told me he wasn’t upset about my giving Felix the keys, but I’m sure he intends on keeping an eye on me.

After all, he’s a businessman, and a clearly ruthless one at that. Anyone who gets in his way is subject to retribution.

Good thing I haven’t let my guard down around another human being in twenty years.

My muscles are straining, the chill of the sea breeze brushing my now sweat-kissed skin as I run around the island. I pass the prison and keep going, making another lap back to the mansion. This whole island can’t be more than three miles around. It’s interesting how something so small can house such monumental personalities.

Thoughts drift in my subconscious while I focus on the endorphins rushing my system. I think about my work with Felix. How he told me that he likes speaking to me because I get him…

Do I…? Get him?

It’s an interesting notion. I’ve always felt more connected with the twisted, lost souls of the world. Those with mental disruptions… I’ve spent my life craving understanding. Insight into who they are, and what makes them unique specimens. They’re anomalies; organic, tarnished stones in a world of synthetic diamonds.

Felix Darcey is just that. And aberration. One in a Million.

My heart rate is pumping in my ears while I consider his words. He thinks I’m like him… Sick and perverse, because of my deep-seated fascination with the macabre. My severe morbid obsession with depravity.

He could have a point.

But still, I’m on this side of the fence. Even with the corrupted genes in my family, I turned out better. Stronger.

I’m not like him… Not like either of them.

And I’m no victim.

The sounds of my breathing are becoming louder and louder, bounding mercilessly off every inner surface of my brain. Suddenly I can’t feel my hands. They’re numb, and my wrists are sore from being bound too tightly.

There’s something around my neck.

I can’t breathe.

My eyes are open, but I can’t see, and the object around my neck is getting tighter and tighter.

He’s pressed up against me from behind. I can feel every inch of him, and it makes me retch.

Fight it, I scream at myself. Fight, push, overcome!

Don’t let him win.

I slow down with my head wobbling and grasp at my throat, desperately clawing and trying to free myself. But nothing is there. I’m free, but I can still feel it.

“Fuck…” I huff, leaning up against something while trying to catch my breath.

Bending at the waist, I close my eyes tight and focus on pulling oxygen into my lungs.

You’re right here, Lem. You’re free. He didn’t get you, and he never will.

After a few minutes, my heart rate slows, and the pressure in my head subsides. Straightening up, I glance around and find myself standing by a shabby old structure. I remember seeing this on the map of Alabaster Isle. It used to be an armory until it began crumbling—literally. And apparently Manuel Blanco didn’t feel that restoring it was a good use of his funding, so they moved all the weapons into the prison and called it a day.

I wander over to the rickety door. It’s locked up with a padlock. Looking around the forest area I’m standing in, I also see the guard tower nearby. Another structure that apparently has no use anymore.

At dinner, Manuel briefly mentioned their funding issues.

“Governor Russo gets his panties in a bunch from time to time,” he’d said while swirling his fork around in his paella. “Our financial situation used to be much more… bountiful. But lately it’s all politics and board seats and blah blah blah. None of it interests me. I will get what I require through my own means, if necessary, but I do need to play nice with the big boys. Which is why no one can ever know that Dascha Reznikov is no longer within the walls of Alabaster Pen…”

I try to mind my sneakers in the mud, noticing what looks like tracks of some kind. It’s only one set of wheels, so they must be from a motorcycle. Trudging along a beaten path toward the prison, I observe its exterior. Crumbling stone, streaks of black… The framework has obviously seen better days.

You’d think the upkeep of this facility would be the Warden’s top priority…

I suppose he has other things on his mind.

I’m not even sure why, but something draws me to keep walking. I know I should just go home—back to the mansion. Take a hot shower and get some rest.

But I can’t seem to stop my body from bringing me back to this prison. This grim shroud of despair and suffering, the home of torture, longing, and infinite time.

It calls to me, on some deep level I don’t understand.

When I reach the prison’s exterior, I stop in front of what looks like a sewer drain. There are old, rusted bars covering it, but they’re snapped in half and torn apart. I blink at the space for a few moments, wondering if this is where Felix’s friend Dash escaped.

I didn’t know Dash… I’d never met him before, but I saw his file. I’ve read the files on every single guard and inmate Alabaster Penitentiary has ever seen. He was just another troubled young man. Someone I would have treated, like Trevel.

And now he’s an escaped fugitive.

Only not really, because The Ivory will never let anyone know he’s gone. For his own reputation and the sake of this prison, the facade must be preserved. But on this island, we know the truth.

Dash is gone, and it’s my fault.

Not directly, but still. Felix had a choice. He could have left, but instead he gave the keys to Dash and decided to stay.

Why?

The sudden urge to ask him is overpowering. Beckoning to me and I can’t ignore it.

Using my knowledge of the code, I type it into the pin-pad on the side door and enter the prison. It’s the middle of the night, but you’d have no idea in here. There are no windows on this side, and the fluorescent lights are on at all times. Walking the halls, they flicker above my head, that sizzling sound driving me to move faster.

The door to the East corridor is locked, so I pull my new set of keys from my pocket and open it. Stalking past the cells to the one on the end, I slowly peek inside through the small plexiglass window.

Felix is sitting on the floor, leaned up against the wall. He’s in a straitjacket and his eyes are closed behind his glasses. I find it amusing that he sleeps with them on. He truly hates taking them off for anything, and I know it’s because he despises not being able to see clearly. It reminds me that his new pair of glasses should be arriving soon, the ones with the fixed lens.

His eyelids flutter open, and they lock on mine. We stare at each other for a moment in silence before he leans forward.

“Dream…?” His voice gasps the word, an odd hopefulness in his tone.

I shake my head, using my key to unlock the door to his cell, stepping inside and closing the door behind me. Felix gazes up at me from the floor, his eyes gliding over me from top to bottom and back. I find myself swallowing down some nerves.

I know he’s attracted to me. That much is clear from his attempts at kissing me and getting me to engage with him sexually. And while I know it’s a lost cause, I can’t help the frisson of twisted excitement it brings me, deep down in the place I’ve been sequestering all my life.

I shouldn’t want to be ogled by a serial killer. I don’t.

But it gives me this unfettered sense of power. A control over someone who can’t be controlled. Someone who steals the most precious thing in the world… The human life.

I have dominion over the monster.

Taking a seat on the floor in front of him, I cross my legs while he straightens up. As usual, we’re both silent for a few beats.

“You look different,” he says quietly with his eyes still traveling all over me.

My brow lifts. “How so?”

“You’re not dressed up,” he hums. “You’re in regular clothes and your hair is tied back.”

“Does this upset you?” My head tilts.

“No.” He huffs, lips curling. “You look…” His teeth tug at his lower lip.

My jaw clenches. “Felix, what did I tell you? I’m not your boyfriend. And I’m certainly not here to be your eye candy.”

His smile widens. “Then why are you here?”

The question sort of stuns me, because I don’t really have an answer. I went out for a run and wound up here. In the middle of the night.

What am I doing here?

“I was just out, jogging, and figured I would stop by… To ask you a question.” I fold my arms over my chest and his eyes fall to them.

“And what would that be…?” he asks, with a hungry gaze glued to my biceps.

“Why didn’t you leave?”

That gets him. His eyes flick up to mine and he blinks.

“When you had the chance… Why didn’t you escape with your friend?” I stare at him, awaiting his answer.

He shifts so that he’s sitting cross-legged too. “Why would I leave?”

“Is that a trick question?” I give him a pointed look.

“No…” he murmurs. “Seriously. What’s out there for me, anyway?”

I shrug. “I don’t know… freedom. Life. Chances and choices.”

“I suppose.” He sighs dreamily. “All of Felix Darcey’s problems with none of The Carver’s fame.”

His words click into place.

“You mean because everyone thinks you’re dead…”

He nods. “I thought about it. I could have fun in the outside world. Sure I could. But then… I can have fun in here, too.”

His gray eyes sort of linger on mine in a way that ripples in my stomach like a stone being tossed into a pond. It’s a similar look to the one he gave me while he was stroking his dick the other day…

“Why are you in a straitjacket?” I ask hoarsely, changing the subject.

“Johansson.” He sounds even more tired than he looks.

My muscles stiffen, and my blood heats with some ripening anger. “Is that right? And what was on the docket for today?”

“More of that obnoxious pain measurement,” he tells me. “They have this hot stick thing they were poking me with in various places on my body. I have marks.”

I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood. Crawling forward, I reach around him and untie the straitjacket, all the while ignoring how close we are and how he’s obviously sniffing me.

“Can you stop doing that?” I growl at him with his face damn-near buried in the crook of my neck.

“Sorry…” he mumbles. “What type of cologne do you wear? It’s like… really nice.”

“Felix. Enough.”

I get the straitjacket off of him and sure enough, there are small burn marks all over his arms. He lifts his t-shirt, revealing more on his torso. My eyes linger on the lines for a moment before springing up to his.

“Does it hurt?”

He shakes his head. “It wasn’t bad. I’ve always had a… high tolerance for pain.” His voice trails and he pinches his bottom lip between his fingers.

“I have to go.” I stand up fast.

He scrambles to his feet after me. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

Part of me wants to say no. Wants to put some distance between us, because I think it’s necessary to remind him of exactly what we are, and what’s happening here.

But then… there’s still so much I need from him.

So I nod, but speak no words. I leave his cell with a loud thunk and a clanking lock behind me.

And I run as fast as my legs will carry me back to the mansion.

Sometimes I like to count my heart beats.

I like to take note of how it slows down when I’m tired, or speeds up when I’m excited, or nervous. The heart is like a measure. A tool sitting inside our bodies to let us know how we’re feeling. I think that’s why they say the heart can guide you. Terms like listen to your heart.

Realistically, it’s just an organ; a muscle that moves your blood around.

But its beats have meaning. Every thump is a moment spent waiting for the next.

Right now, I’m on the high side of normal. Eighty-eight beats per minute.

And I know why, too. It’s because I’m sitting across from my doctor, the new object of my obsessive fantasies. On the same couch where the last time I saw him, he commanded me to jerk my dick off while he watched in the name of research.

If anyone else in the world told me that story, I’d laugh in their face and tell them, yea, that dude just wanted to watch you jerk off.

It seems like the obvious reason. I mean, who watches someone stroke their cock as a form of education??

But around here, it makes sense. And where Dr. Robot is concerned, there seems to be no earthly possibility that he’s interested in my dick as anything other than another piece of my body that reacts to my monstrous tendencies.

Dr. Love is a rock. Seriously. He’s yet to show any kind of sign that he even remembers me jerking off in front of him the other day. Of course he remembers it… But he probably only thinks about it in terms of behavioral science. Just like Johansson and Templeton. How sexual stimulation affects the neurons in my brain or some shit.

Leave it to these assholes to make orgasms boring.

Still, I can’t help the way I’ve been gravitating toward this man. The way he stares at me—like he’s doing right now. No emotion to speak of. No desire for anything other than what’s inside my mind.

I’m telling you, it appeals to the stubborn side of me so damn much, I find myself desperate to make even the tiniest crack in his ten-inch-thick steel shield of resolve. And what’s worse, the delusional part of myself tells me it’s possible…

After all, he did show up in my cell last night. Looking all manners of delicious in fitted workout clothes, just enough sweat for me to imagine licking it off of him.

I shift in my seat and bite my cheek. We’ve already been sitting here for ten minutes and he hasn’t said shit. So I guess we’ve regressed in our relationship, back to the silent staring contests from when we first met.

Well, I’m not having it. I want some information. I want to know things about him, since he’s practically an encyclopedia of knowledge on me.

Nodding at him, I say, “I saw more of your tattoos last night. Do you have them all over or just on your arms?”

He squints a bit, but says nothing.

Okay, so that one’s a bust. How about—

“Do you like music?” I ask. “What’s your favorite song?” He continues to stare at me, and I roll my eyes. “Come on… Humor me. I want to know.”

But he keeps his lips zipped.

“Fine. Where are you from…?” I keep trying. Not giving up. “I saw a Johns Hopkins water bottle in your desk. Are you from Baltimore?”

He blinks. No words.

“Are you religious?” I ask, twiddling my thumbs. “Did your parents ever force you to go to Sunday school like mine did?”

Every time my words dry up, the silence in the room takes over, and it’s deafening. I can’t take it anymore.

“Dr. Love, please,” I whine, flopping back on the couch. “Can we please talk?? I’m dying here.”

He inhales, then exhales audibly. Even that seems to take him forever. “Felix, we’re here to talk about you, not me.”

“I’m not that interesting.” I smirk teasingly.

He’s clearly not amused. Literal robot, I swear to God.

He slouches an inch in his chair, observing me. “Have your urges been returning?”

Gulp. “Huh…?”

“Since killing Kieran,” he goes on and I release a breath. “Have you found yourself… craving?”

Oh, I’m craving, alright.

“I mean, I wouldn’t say no… if you put a knife in my hand,” I mutter with a shrug. “Why? Are you considering another experiment? Because if so, I’m happy to go through the files and pick someone—”

“Either you’re being overly silly today, or you’ve gravely missed the entire point of that book you’ve been reading,” he grumbles.

My eyes widen at him. “Actually, I’m almost done with the book.”

Something about what I’ve said seems to please him and he tilts his head. “And what do you think so far?”

“I think the person who wrote it is a sick puppy.” I grin. His gaze narrows. “But it makes a lot of sense. The various ways of getting inside someone’s head. And then the idea of tweaking things in your favor. It’s pretty interesting.”

His lips do one of those subtle almost-curves, only this time it stays there. It doesn’t immediately vanish like it usually does.

I’m in awe. I can’t stop staring.

“Can you think of a time when you were manipulated into something?” he asks curiously.

My mind goes immediately to Templeton and his glass dildo. And oddly, it almost seems like Dr. Love can read my thoughts.

His jaw ticks and he says, “I don’t necessarily mean by force. Though that can be part of it. Being coerced into something until you begrudgingly agree doesn’t exactly equal consent.”

I think for a moment. “Well, this one time, before Emmanuel, I met a guy at a club in Manhattan. I was still new to the scene, and I didn’t know anyone. I was nervous and uncomfortable with myself, you know? Still trying to figure it all out. He came up to me right away and was obviously interested.” I pause and Dr. Love’s brows lift as if to say, go on. “He was different from my usual type. Older than me by at least ten years, probably. He was really big and sort of… dominant. Actually, he mentioned that he was a Dom, and I told him I wasn’t into that stuff. But he was really cocky about it. He was sort of like, ‘Well, everyone thinks they’re not into it until they try,’ that sorta thing.”

Dr. Love makes a noise, like a subtle scoff, to which I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my eager smile in check.

“Anyway, we were talking, and he was buying me drinks. I was just trying to be polite, but he obviously wanted something to happen. And I wasn’t opposed to it… In fact, I kind of wanted to try. To see what would happen if I hooked up with a man. I mean, I knew I was gay, but I’d only ever been with Bobby and he was very different from this dude.

“So he asked if I wanted to go for a walk and I agreed. When he was paying for the drinks, I noticed he had a wedding ring on, but I wasn’t really thinking about it. We went outside, but the walk wasn’t even a walk because he sort of just pushed me into this dark alley.”

Dr. Love’s expression grows dark, his features tight with something scary just beneath the surface. It trips me up for a second, but he says, “Keep going.”

So I do. “Um, so, he shoved me against the wall and started kissing me. And he was really aggressive, but it felt kind of… good? It’s hard to explain, like, the way he was holding my face and guiding me felt right, even though it also scared me.”

The darkness in the amber eyes of my doctor causes me to shift in my seat. His pupils look dilated as he glares at me, sitting stone still in his chair.

“The guy—I don’t even know his name—pushed me onto my knees and took his dick out. I was pretty scared because I’d never done it before. I didn’t want to seem like an inexperienced loser, but his dick was really thick, and I was afraid I was going to get lockjaw or something.”

“What did you do?” Dr. Love’s voice rumbles at me, and I notice that he’s sitting on the edge of his chair, obviously invested in my story. He’s always invested in my stories, but right now it looks like he’s part curious, part enraged.

I swallow hard. “I told him I’d never done it before. He seemed to really like that. And he said he would teach me, and to just open my mouth wide and relax my jaw…”

Movement catches my eye. Dr. Love’s fingers are twitching at his side. Ever so slightly, but still. Something is happening here. I can’t tell if he hates the guy in my story, or if he wants to be him…

No. That’s crazy. His fascination with me begins and ends with my crimes. There’s no further interest.

Yet his eyes are sparkling…

“And did you?” he asks quietly.

I nod slowly. “Yes.”

“And then what happened?”

“He crammed his dick so deep in my throat I couldn’t breathe.” I blink at him.

Dr. Love’s hand squeezes into a fist.

“It was… really painful, actually,” I keep going, remembering. “My eyes were watering so I couldn’t see. I was trying to breathe through my nose, but there wasn’t enough time. I tried pulling away, but he had his giant hand on the back of my head, just forcing my mouth. It was awful.”

Something crazy happens. Dr. Love stands up and steps over, taking a seat right next to me on the couch. His eyes are set on mine, a sort of commiseration in them that I don’t understand. He looks fired up right now.

“Tell me what you did, Felix,” he breathes. “You had to have done something.”

Nodding, I tell him, “Yea, I did something. I bit his dick.”

Dr. Love’s eyes widen. “You didn’t…”

“I did.” I grin, then shrug. “It was the only way to stop him. I thought I was going to pass out! So I bit his dick so hard there was blood in my mouth. And then I punched his balls and ran.”

Dr. Love’s face is frozen solid while he gawks at me for five seconds of silence.

And then he laughs.

He actually fucking laughs. Out loud. Because of something I said.

It’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever witnessed. And the sound of his laugh—it’s really nothing more than an amused chuckle, but still. It’s like catchy music. Deep and rumbly, just like his voice. And the way it makes his face look…

In this moment, he’s not an ice sculpture anymore.

The robot is developing human emotions!

We’re both so invested in the conversation that it takes a moment to notice how close we’re sitting. Our knees are touching and his hand is so close to mine on the couch that my pinky could inch right over onto his.

My glancing down at our hands causes him to do the same. But to my surprise, he doesn’t jump back or run away. Instead, he lets out a breath.

“I’m glad you defended yourself,” he says. And I really feel it.

He’s proud of me for almost biting a guy’s dick off.

“You know I’m a murderer, right?” I hum.

He chuckles again. Oh my God, be still my beating fucking heart.

“Let’s get back on track, Felix.” He sighs, though his lips remain settled in a pleasant curve while he leans back on the couch.

I try to shake off my daze. “Right, so that was technically my first time giving a blowjob, though I wouldn’t count it. Emmanuel was a much better teacher.”

“Is that right?” Dr. Love’s voice rumbles into me from how close we are. I nod. “So he taught you more than just open wide and relax your jaw?”

I grin. “Yea, believe it or not, there’s more to it than that.”

“I’d say so.” His brows arch.

I squint at him teasingly. “How would you know?”

“I’ve received oral sex, Felix,” he says, and I laugh.

“God, you even sound like a robot when you’re talking about head.”

His gaze turns a bit heated again. Only this time, it’s directed at me. “What am I supposed to say?” He leans in. Our knees brush. “I’ve gotten my dick sucked by dozens of girls?”

“Dozens?” I whisper as my breathing shallows and I watch his mouth.

“Maybe hundreds,” he taunts me.

And now I have this yucky feeling slinking around in my stomach. It spreads a burning sensation up into my chest like heartburn and I don’t like it. It feels like jealousy.

I’m jealous of the girls who have sucked him off…

“Yea, well, I bet none of them knew what they were doing,” I mutter stubbornly.

His lips twitch. “You think?”

“I know.” I lean in closer, and this time he swallows visibly. “Guys give way better head.”

I witness his teeth clenching together, his fiery gaze burning into mine. “That’s never been proven.”

My heart is flying behind my ribs as my pinky slinks, reaching out to subtly graze his. “I’ll give you proof. Name the time and place, Dr. Love.”

Our eyes are gripping each other’s, flames of frustration coming from him and lust coming from me, clashing in an explosion of fire and ice. I’m shivering from head to toe, but I stand my ground. I don’t move, I just sit in front of him, trembling, waiting for him to make the next move. His inevitable shutdown.

But instead, his eyes fall to my mouth.

Then he sits back on the couch, snatching his hand away from mine. “You have five minutes.”

My heart stops so fast I hear a record scratch.

“W-what?” I stammer, eyelashes flickering in my state of confusion.

“You heard me,” he growls. “Prove it. You have five minutes. If you can get me off that fast, then you win.”

My mind is racing as fast as my pulse. “What do I win…?”

He gives me an austere look. “Bragging rights.”

“I want more than that.” I shake my head.

I can see him considering things, and I wish like hell I could hear what he’s considering.

“I’ll bring you more Chinese food. Final offer.”

“You have to eat it with me,” I demand, and he makes a low sound that gives my dick a jump.

“Fine,” he hisses. “But if I win, you have to stop hitting on me.”

“This is an odd way to make that happen,” I point out, and he’s not amused.

“Your time starts now,” he chirps, then sits back.

“W-wait. What?? Hold on, I’m not ready.” I shuffle closer to him.

“You’re really hurting your cause here, Felix.” He smirks. I don’t even have time to enjoy it.

Okay, focus. You’ve got this.

Remember that time you got Travis off in two minutes? Just do that again and you’re golden.

But when I go to make a move, I’m weighted in place. This is Dr. Love… I don’t know how to seduce him. He’s a heterosexual humanoid from another planet. And he’s mocking me with his impatient glare… Practically checking his watch.

Fuck, I can’t do this.

No. I can. I can do this.

Sucking in a breath, I scoot closer, dropping my hand on the other side of his hips. His amusement falls away, and he looks… nervous? It can’t be.

“Can I kiss you?” I plead on a whisper, inching myself even closer, eyes on his mouth because goddamn it looks so sweet.

“No,” he seethes. “That wasn’t part of the agreement. You’re at four minutes, Felix. You’re wasting time.”

My hands are shaking as I fall to my knees on the floor, positioning myself between his parted legs. I push them apart farther and his Adam’s apple bobs.

Quickly and with quivering fingers, I unbuckle his belt, then unzip his pants. And he isn’t helping me at all. He’s just sitting there like a statue while I attempt to move his clothes enough to get his dick out.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so tense in my life. I’m about to see Dr. Love’s dick. I’ve been thinking about him, obsessing and craving some kind of interaction, and now we’re diving straight into this. It’s nerve-racking.

But also… it’s a challenge. And I’m very competitive.

Reaching my hand inside his pants, I’m met with silky soft skin. And to my surprise, he’s already half-hard.

We both gasp in unison, and my eyes spring to his. He’s glaring at me angrily… Like he’s pissed off that I’ve given him an erection. Honestly, it makes my own dick leak in my pants.

My mouth is filling with saliva as I pull him out, revealing the many, many inches of his cock. Seriously, the thing was pretty folded up in there, and now that it’s free, I can see that it’s enormous.

“Fuck me…” I whisper, ogling it for a second.

His throat clears and when I peek back up at him, he growls, “Three minutes. You’re never gonna make it.”

Using my hand, I stroke him a few times, savoring the feeling of him growing and stiffening in my palm. The harder he gets, the bigger he gets, and it’s fucking mesmerizing. The thing has to be ten inches long.

My face moves in, dropping in his lap to lick around the curve of his fat head. It tastes like salt and soap and my eyes actually roll back because fuck, I missed this. I haven’t been with anyone in so long… I haven’t done this in a while.

Shit, which means I might be rusty.

Hurry up, Felix. You’ve gotta win this.

Wasting no more time, I sink my mouth down on his smooth, now rock-hard dick, and it flinches between my lips. My eyes find his and he looks like he’s desperately trying to remain unaffected, but his jaw is so tight his teeth might snap, and his fingers are digging into the fabric of the couch.

Running my tongue along the underside of his erection, I bob down and let him touch the back of my throat. An audible breath escapes him, and I use it to fuel me, pushing deeper, forcing the gag reflex out of my mind to let his tip push back even farther.

“God… fuck,” he croaks, and my heart skips.

Sliding my hands up his muscular thighs, I hold them open wide, using the excess spit as lube to work my mouth up and down. It’s really wet… The sound is obscene already, but it drives me fucking wild, and I can’t help but push my hips into the couch to rub out some friction.

Groaning on his dick, I throat him as best I can, sucking around his girth while I use every single skill I’ve accumulated over the years on him. And I think it’s working. My robot doctor is crumbling just a bit beneath me.

His wide chest is fluttering. I can hear heavy pants coming from him. And when our eyes meet, his dark lashes fall and his head tips back.

“I’m not gonna let you win, Carver,” he growls, but it doesn’t stop his hand from coming up to grip my hair.

I moan on his dick once more, sucking him hard and reaching for his balls. We’ll see about that, Dr. Want.

I’m desperate to rub on his nuts, but his pants are still blocking me. So I grab the waist of them and haul them down hard, causing him to grunt. Our gazes lock together, a blazing inferno between his amber and my gray while I grasp his balls, squeezing them just enough.

He bites down on his lip, guiding my head with his hand while his eyes attempt to stay open. He looks lust drunk, and so fucking close to coming. I don’t know how much time I have left, but it can’t be more than thirty seconds.

Still, I know I have him. I can feel every muscle in his body coiling up. So I push past the pain and I gulp his dick back into my throat, swallowing and humming as I do.

“Fuck you,” his voice cracks. “God, fuck you…”

And then his dick swells, and bursts, erupting into the back of my throat. He spills pulse after pulse of thick cum on my tongue, and I drink it down, throat adjusting while I watch him, savoring his little begrudging gasps and whimpers. He looks regal sitting above me. So large, wide shoulders and chest heaving with his uneven breaths.

I did that. I made him come that way.

I’ve never been so proud of myself.

Exceptional performance, Felix. A+++

When I finally pull my mouth off his dick, I make sure to suck on my way up, which earns me another little taste and a soft, hidden groan from my doctor. His fingers brush through my hair for all of a split second before he drops it and remembers himself.

Sitting back on my knees, I watch him scramble to tuck himself away. He doesn’t really blush with his complexion, but I’m sure that’s what I’m getting right now. He looks flustered.

It’s fucking adorable.

I run my thumb along my lower lip and stand up. “This time I want Moo Shu pork. Ooo and lo mein!”

Dr. Love says nothing. He’s just staring up at me from the couch, having resumed his rigid stance. He looks angry again, but there’s still a post-coital daze surrounding him that makes it much less scary.

His eyes fall and he blinks. I look down to see what he’s gawking at and realize that my erection is tenting the front of my jumpsuit pants.

I step closer to the couch. “You wanna try?”

In the blink of an eye, he shoots up and grabs me by the throat. “Listen up, Felix. Just because you won the bet, it doesn’t mean there’s anything happening here. You just happen to be a superior cocksucker. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” I squeak and his grip around my throat tightens as he walks me backward, pushing me until my ass hits his desk.

“Enough,” he hisses, mere inches from my face. “Your mouth was on my dick, Felix. Not the other way around. I’m not interested in playing these games with you.”

I whine at the feeling of his hard body trapping my erection between us. His face drops and then morphs into even more appall and rage.

He reaches between us and grabs my dick through my pants, so hard I yelp out loud. “You’ll be taking care of this on your own, you little psycho. Do you understand?”

I nod quickly, though I’m unable to stop myself from writhing into his hand.

“You’re so sick,” he seethes. But it doesn’t sound like there’s only hatred in his tone.

There’s also lust and a confusing allure.

“You like it.” I urge myself up, pushing my throat and my dick against his hands.

He squeezes harder on both, and my eyes roll back in my head.

“Are you going to come, sick boy?” he provokes, gripping my cock like a vice. He’s not jerking it or anything, but he’s holding it and it feels fantastic.

“Only if you want me to,” I purr.

He shoves me hard against the desk, grinding into me for a moment. I think I might just come from this. I’m keyed up and ready to explode in his hand.

But then he releases my dick and my throat simultaneously. He steps back, straightens himself up and wanders over to the table, picking up his phone to stop the recording.

I’m just shivering there like an idiot as he glances up at me, completely stone-faced, and says, “Our time is up.”

“Doctor?”

I’m staring, my eyes fixed on the wall in front of me. It’s a light sort of gray, with a crack running down the middle. Concrete, I presume.

The primary material here.

“Dr. Love…?”

My mind is sitting blank. I’ve shut it down, and now things are quiet in my head. I need it to be this way. I’ve been forcing myself not to think since yesterday…

I have to say, the spacing out feels good. The quiet, the calm. No more tumultuous thoughts.

No more questions.

But then fingers snap in front of my face, and I startle. “Dr. Love. Are you ready?”

My eyes find the bespectacled Dr. Johansson, who’s staring at me with some mild concern. When I glance left, I find Dr. Templeton looking impatient. And by his side, Abel Figueroa, who’s clearly just excited to be here.

Fucking weirdo.

I clear my throat, reacquainting myself with reality. We’re supposed to be going to do something… And I don’t think I can manage it right now. “You all go on. I’ll just… observe.”

Templeton lets out a subtle scoff, and I glare at him.

Johansson’s forehead lines. “But I thought you wanted to be involved…”

“Not this time,” I bark.

The three of them share a brief look before conceding and wordlessly shuffling out of the office. I roll my eyes, slowly standing up from my seat to follow after them. We take the halls like a troop of professionals, although right now I don’t feel like any of us are quite that.

I suppose it doesn’t matter, though.

At the end of the corridor, my pace slows as I watch the three of them file into the examination room. I creep up to the doorway, peering inside the window. He’s already in there.

The orderly is shackling a shirtless Felix to the chair. I feel my breathing pick up just a bit, and it’s disturbing. This is why I didn’t want to be involved in this today.

I need a break. Never mind the fact that I just watched Manuel Blanco slit a man’s throat based on something I did… He brought us all into a room as a show of power, to remind everyone who we’re dealing with.

Really, I wish I could feel bad about it. But call me self-centered. After what happened yesterday, I had my mind stuck on someone other than an unfortunate control room guard who probably didn’t deserve to die.

And I had no intention of even seeing him today.

I mean, really though… What is wrong with me??

My jaw tightens as I push away all the jumbled memories and focus on work. Templeton is securing the usual electrodes to Felix’s temples, then placing them on his bare chest. I can still see the marks on him from their last experiment. They’re faded… I don’t think they’ll scar. But still.

The strangest feelings of anger and protection filled me when he showed me those marks the other night. It makes no sense. What are these reactions I keep having to him?

It’s like he’s weaseled his way inside my head, which is ridiculous, since I’m the one studying him. I’m the one in charge, reigning over the psychopath. He’s not supposed to get to me.

He’s not supposed to make me—

Let’s not go there.

Felix is strapped to the exam chair by every fastening; his ankles, wrists, and neck. He can barely move, and while he looks exhausted, as if he’s getting used to being strapped up and tested this way, he still manages to struggle against the restraints.

He hasn’t spotted me yet, which is good. I’m just barely peering through the window, trying to keep myself hidden. I really don’t want him to see me. If our eyes lock, then I’ll be forced to remember what it looked like when he was on his knees in front of me, and I just can’t think about that right now. I’ve never been one for denial, but I think in this case it will be my best bet.

Ignore it and it’ll go away.

After all, it was just a blowjob. I’ve gotten them from women I’ve known for shorter amounts of time than I’ve known Felix.

But still… they were women.

And Felix is a man.

So… We’re ignoring.

“What is this??” Felix’s unsteady voice pulls me back to the present.

They’ve put a blindfold on him, and he’s becoming visibly agitated. I know it’s because he can’t see. Felix hates not being able to see.

A strange uneasy feeling settles in my gut while I watch him lying helplessly strapped to the chair, awaiting whatever they’re planning this time.

Dr. Johansson introduces himself to the cameras, speaking the date and time, followed by Felix’s vitals. The hidden cameras roll twenty-four-seven in the exam rooms, with a live feed that goes directly to us doctors and the Warden, should he choose to watch it. It also records footage for playback.

No privacy in here.

“Today we are injecting the patient with sodium pentothal,” Johansson says, then nods at Templeton, who cleans Felix’s arm.

Sodium pentothal, otherwise known as the truth serum.

“Wait, what?? I don’t want to be injected… what is that shit?” Felix tries to squirm around, but he can’t really move.

Templeton grips his arm still, injecting a long needle into him. Felix bites his lip.

When the syringe is empty, Templeton hands it off to Figueroa, holding a gauze pad on the injection site for about five seconds. Then he nods at Johansson.

“What did you… give me…” Felix’s voice drifts off, his head sort of lolling.

I swallow hard, stepping in front of the window fully. He’s blindfolded, anyway.

“We’re going to ask you some questions, Felix, and we just want you to answer however you see fit,” Johansson instructs. “Whatever comes to mind first, okay?”

“You’re an asshole.” Felix giggles.

I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek to subdue my own smirk.

Johansson ignores him and asks, “Please state your full name, age, and place of birth for us.”

Felix blows out a breath. “Felix Harmon Darcey, age twenty-three.” He’s obviously feeling pretty relaxed because he’s no longer fighting his restraints, and he seems very casual. “I was born and raised in… Ridgefield, baby! Go tigers!” He laughs out loud.

They’re all still stone-faced and serious in the room, jotting down notes on their charts.

“Felix, what did your parents do for a living?” Johansson asks.

“My father was a neuroscientist at Yale and my mother was a… bitch.” He snorts. “No, she was a homemaker.”

“Can you tell us about your mother’s mental health diagnoses?”

His shoulder does a little shrug. “She never told us about it… Me and Zach. But I know she was on meds and she hated taking them.”

“What do you believe she suffered from?”

“Fuck if I know. You’re the doctors, you tell me.” His fingers wiggle. “Her moods were violently up and down… Manic highs and then bouts of depression. She really only cared about herself, no sense of protection for us. Her relationship with my father was toxic because he was the polar opposite of her, and it made no sense for them to be together in the first place. Two wildly different personalities…” His voice trails and I witness his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

Templeton is scribbling notes so fast it looks like his fingers are going to fly off. And I’m just staring, observing Felix, because these are things I already know. We all know about his home life at this point. But I guess the point of the experiment is to watch him talk about it, and monitor his vitals while he does.

“Now tell us about your time at LIU,” Johansson instructs.

“College was alright, but it wasn’t for me,” he breathes carelessly.

“Why do you say that?”

“It didn’t hold my attention enough. Once I discovered my true purpose…” He licks his lip slowly.

“And what is your true purpose?” All eyes are on Felix as his lips curve.

“I’m the bad guy,” he says with as much confidence as I’ve ever heard from him. “I’m the monster that lurks in the shadows. The evil that sends a chill up your spine and makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. I’m just me. The Carver is me.”

The doctors are silent, gaping at him for a solid three seconds before they begin scratching out more notes. They look vastly intrigued. We all do, and I guess that means we’re all a bit twisted, because this is the stuff that makes our tummies tingle.

Being in the presence of something the world would consider real evil. And in such a normal-looking package, too. Fascinating.

I move into the doorway while Johansson is asking, “Who was your favorite victim?”

Felix laughs. “That’s like asking me to pick my favorite child! Impossible. But I will say that I had fun with each of them, in their own, special ways.”

“You can’t pick a favorite… not even Emmanuel Pedroia?”

Felix pouts. “Emmanuel could have been the love of my life. I think…” He goes a bit wistful, and I really wish he wasn’t blindfolded so I could see his eyes.

“If you hadn’t killed him…” Johansson asks in more of a statement.

“I didn’t want to kill him,” Felix grumbles. “I needed to. There’s a difference.”

Templeton watches the EEG.

“Who did you want to kill?” Johansson asks.

“Tom Kline.” Felix’s smile goes wide; wicked. He’s smiling, but I can imagine the anger in his eyes. He hated Tom Kline. “Dan Benton… He was the one they found in front of the church, remember? Yea, he was fucking creep. Liked to touch little boys, but he was never charged. You know, the whole Catholic Church deal.” Felix sighs and shakes his head. “Kurt Hamlin… That prick roofied two guys in clubs in Manhattan. I followed him for three weeks. He was a real pervert. So I chopped off his head and left it on the hood of his BMW.” He lets out a chuckle.

I don’t think my eyes have ever been so wide.

“I wanted to ask you about that, Felix,” Johansson goes on. “Your disposal process.”

“Mm.” Felix nods enthusiastically.

“For three years, cops in New York were going out of their minds. Bodies were turning up all over the place, some intact, some extremely dismembered. Can you tell us about your process?”

“Well, the easiest way to do it was to chop them up. For the first year or so, I would put one body part in a bag with a bunch of regular trash and just throw it out on the curb. The city would pick it up and no one found the pieces for like months. But then there were the guys I posed… And that was much harder.

“I planned it out for times when I knew I was going to drive home to see my family. Or at least pretend to. I’d rent a car, cover the interior with plastic, and then transport them that way.”

There was never any DNA evidence linking Felix to the crimes. That wasn’t how they caught him, which is miraculous with so many victims. I remember how much the FBI hated Felix. You could tell during press conferences and on the news. They were so pissed off that he was so active yet so meticulously clean.

“On occasion, I would throw a body part into the river, or bury it somewhere. I got cocky after a while because I was killing for so long, so many people, and the cops weren’t even close.” His amusement falls away and he jerks at his wrists. “It became sort of frustrating. I mean, part of me loved it. I was doing what I was meant to do. I finally had a purpose. But then I was still invisible. Even the FBI didn’t see me…”

Johansson and Templeton share a look. Johansson glances at me.

“Are you saying you… wanted to get caught?” he asks Felix.

He chews on his lip for a moment. “I just wanted someone to fucking notice me. No one wants to go to prison, but I knew it was where I was supposed to be. I was a fucking terror. I still am…” He lets out a slow exhale. “I deserve to be here. I know that.”

The way he’s speaking makes my chest feel heavy, like there are bricks stacking up behind my ribs.

“So, did you let Henry Liu go on purpose?” Johansson asks carefully.

“No.” Felix scoffs. “I didn’t just set him free and say go tell the cops who I am. But I was maybe a little… tired with him. I had pieces of Nick’s body in the closet. I’d barely cleaned up the bathroom when I brought Henry home. And I just… I don’t know, I was exhausted.”

Johansson peeks at me for a moment before asking, “What made you want to kill Kieran O’Malley?”

Felix hums. “Kieran O’Malley was a gift.” He pauses and some mild nerves bound through me. They might not know what he means by that, but I do.

He means that I gave him Kieran O’Malley. The kill was a gift from me.

“He deserved to die, and I deserved to be the one killing him,” he goes on. “I knew the moment I laid eyes on him that I was meant to take his life. And that was even before I learned of his crime. He was handed to me on a silver platter…” He smiles fondly.

I feel like if that blindfold weren’t in the way, he’d be looking right at me. My stomach flips and flops, and I grip the doorway, trying my hardest to ignore it. Johansson and Templeton are looking at me. They must know that I’m the one who gave Felix the keys. Or at the very least, they suspect it.

“My Want is so painfully interested in me…” Felix purrs. “I know he is.”

Fuck this shit.

I turn fast on my heel and stomp away, powerwalking to get the hell away from this shit before I freak out.

That little psycho doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s batshit crazy.

I’m not his anything. And him giving me the same name as his weird mannequin friend is purely idiotic.

Storming out of the prison, I smack my hand on the window of the nearest SUV. Kent is already sitting in it, and he startles as I hop into the backseat.

“Let’s go,” I grunt.

I know it’s a few hours earlier than I usually leave, but I don’t care. I need to get the fuck away from this prison.

Kent speeds off and brings me back to the mansion. Once I’m inside and back upstairs in my room, I allow myself to pace.

What the fuck was I thinking, letting a serial killer suck my dick??

He’s a known psychopath. I mean, he’d just got done telling me about how he practically bit some guy’s dick off, and then what do I do? I offer mine up, no hesitations.

Crawling onto my bed on all fours, I press my head onto the comforter and cover it with my arms. I’m fucked. Setting aside the fact that he’s a vicious murderer, he’s also a guy, and I don’t hook up with guys. I’ve literally never been attracted to the same sex before.

No hints, no curiosities. No experimenting in college. None of it.

I’ve always been vehemently straight.

But for some reason, something about Felix Darcey seems to cross my wires. I can’t even wrap my head around it. Why him??

Four billion men in the world, and I choose to have a gay experience with The Carver.

My insecurities are running rampant, my thoughts spiraling out of control. I need to focus. Get some perspective. Get this thing back on track.

Rolling off the bed, I go for the desk across the room, picking up Felix’s file. Sifting through papers, my notes mixed with crime scene photos, I’m not even sure what I’m looking for, but I just need to work. I need to be professional here. That’s the key.

Not letting the lunatic get in my head.

I find Felix’s most recent medical exam and bloodwork. They’re supposed to perform regular check-ups on all the inmates in Alabaster Pen, but to say it happens regularly would be a great stretch. Still, Felix gets treatment that other inmates don’t, and he has check-ups every few weeks.

My eyes scan over the information, and I feel myself calming down a bit. Sliding back into my role. I’m a doctor. Nothing else matters.

The STD list has boxes checked beside each one. HIV, hepatitis, syphilis, and gonorrhea, all negative. It reminds me of his story about the unprotected sex… The guy who begged Felix to come inside him.

I close my eyes and swallow. Focus.

Reopening them, I toss the files down and reach into my pocket. I take out my phone and go to my recordings. The last one is from yesterday…

It was recording the whole time. I keep forgetting about that fact.

A mischievous frisson runs through me as I stare at the recordings. My brain is telling me to delete it…

I haven’t uploaded it to the Warden’s server yet, and I probably won’t. Why would I?? I don’t want anyone knowing I’ve participated in a sex act with an inmate. Whether the guards do it is irrelevant… I’m not a guard. I’m a fucking doctor.

Still, my finger taps the button to play the recording. Completely against my will.

There’s a lot of silence at first. I didn’t really know what to say to him, after the jerk-off thing, and I figured if I just sat still and quiet, like I used to when we first met, he’d go a little crazy and give me some new information to work with.

But instead, he just kept asking me all kinds of questions about myself. Like we were on a date or something. It’s pure nonsense.

Wandering over to the bed, I take a seat, listening to the recording while desperately seeking any indication that I didn’t initiate what happened. He was telling me the story about that rapist who was face-fucking him in an alley… And Felix bit his dick.

My stomach flips. He made me laugh. How does he make me laugh?? He’s a ferocious killer.

No one makes me laugh… This is severely disturbing.

Listening closer, I shift on the bed. He was sort of hitting on me. No surprise there. He tends to do that.

But then I offered it. The wager.

I made a bet with him that he could suck me to orgasm in five minutes.

I totally started it. Fuck.

Heat is spreading up my neck into my face while I listen to this. It’s not like me to feel shame or humiliation. It so rare, but right now I’m fucking flushed.

The sounds are sort of shuffling, but when I close my eyes, I can see it. Felix Darcey dropping onto his knees and opening my pants. My balls hum and I slowly lie back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling while I listen to us breathing. And him sucking. And me groaning.

Jesus fucking Christ… what is this??

My hand slides down to my crotch and I adjust my growing erection.

This makes no sense. I’m not interested in men. I’m not sexually attracted to The Carver. I can’t be.

But my dick is throbbing as I listen to him getting me off with his warm, wet mouth, and to be honest, I think it was far less than five minutes. Probably more like three. He’s just… fuck, so good at it. His tongue, and the way he sucks deep into the back of his throat. I mean, God, my dick ain’t short and he almost had my balls on his chin.

Talented fucking mouth.

Precum pulses out of my cock inside my pants and I growl out of frustration, tossing the phone away from me. I need to figure this out… I need a solution to this madness.

After all, I’m a doctor. I value science, research above all else.

I need to perform an experiment.

Jumping up, I mind my achy balls and jaunt across the room, grabbing my laptop. Opening a web browser, I pull up a popular porn website. I don’t watch it often, but when I do, I have my defaults. Girl on girl, anal, maybe some light BDSM if I’m feeling it.

But there’s the side of the site I never go to, and that’s the one I’m clicking on right now.

Gay porn.

It feels bizarre even looking at this. There’s a lot of uncomfortable shifting happening in my gut right now, but I also feel like my erection is dying while I scroll through all the videos. I don’t think I want this…

Still, I find a video and press play. It’s pretty basic. Two white guys, one with tattoos, both pretty jacked. They’re making out, and I watch, sort of bored. Then they start sucking each other’s dicks.

Nothing. My own is pretty much back to flaccid.

One guy gets on his stomach while the other one stuffs his face between his ass cheeks. I let out an annoyed huff.

But then Felix’s voice pops into my head… When he was telling me about his seventeenth victim.

“He ate my ass for like a half-hour.”

My dick perks up. I watch the video of the guys touching each other, licking and sucking. And suddenly, all I can see is Felix doing it. I swallow over a lump in my throat, my hand falling down to rub my growing erection over my pants while the guy on the screen grabs the hips of the other guy and flips him over.

He settles between his legs, and I close my eyes.

This is what Felix did. Before he killed them.

Opening my pants slowly, I stuff my hand inside and pull out my dick. I rub it gently, imagining Felix’s hand around the man’s throat. He pumps his dick inside the man, tightening his grip. He takes a knife and slices the man’s flesh…

My cock pulses precum on my hand and I let out an unsteady breath. When I peek at the screen, I find one guy holding the other down, pounding into him. My eyelids flutter and I see my own hands holding down the pale skin beneath me. The curves of pectoral muscle.

I imagine silky chestnut hair, pouty pink lips and stormy gray eyes hidden behind black-framed glasses.

“Fuck me, Doctor…”

I squeeze my hand tight around my erection while I stroke, imagining how tight he would be…

“This is so stupid…” I whisper to myself. “I’m not gay.” My hand moves faster while I picture his face. His eyes rolling back. “I don’t want you.”

He cries while I grip his throat, and his dick erupts, spraying cum up to where my hands are. I swirl my fingers in it and stuff them into his mouth.

“I don’t want… you…” I grunt again, tumbling over the edge into a whirlwind climax.

I gasp and pant while my dick throbs out long, almost painful streams of cum all over me.

Fuck this.

My head spins while I come down, and I slap my laptop shut. It’s hopeless. None of this makes any sense.

I’m not attracted to you, Felix Darcey.

I’m not.

I can admit when my mental state is wearing thin. I seem to be teetering on the edge of an episode, and I’m entirely unsure when I might snap.

Clomping down the steps, I follow the scent of delicious food. The chefs are preparing Chinese food, per my earlier request. Because I’m nothing if not a man of my word. And a bet’s a bet.

Meandering over, I find them transferring the contents of a wok into a couple of plastic containers.

“Good evening, sir,” the chef, Marla, says. “I have your lo mein here. The Moo shu is already done and there are wraps for you, if you prefer. Oh, and I also took the liberty of whipping up a few spring rolls.” She winks at me. “My treat.”

I nod at her politely, picking up the containers and plastic silverware, stuffing everything into a paper bag. “Thank you, chef. It smells fantastic.”

“Enjoy, sir.”

Outside, Kent is already waiting to take me over to the prison. It’s dark outside, just past nine at night, but I can’t help but notice that I haven’t seen any partygoers lingering around. Nor do I hear the thumping bass of music from upstairs.

Maybe they’re taking the night off.

We drive the five minutes to the prison, and I enter through the side door with my bag in hand. Walking down the hall, I can’t help but peek inside the windows of each rubber room leading up to Felix’s. I count six inmates in padded cells.

Reaching Felix’s, I glance inside before unlocking the door. He’s in a straitjacket, barefoot, wandering around the circumference of the room. I watch him for a moment, searching myself for any sort of fondness. I think it’s there, but I don’t understand it. It’s too confusing for me to even process…

All I know is that a strange, confounding part of me is eager to get inside this cell with him.

He makes a face like he smells something and looks up. Our eyes lock and he grins.

“Dear God, get in here,” he pleads.

I scowl at him, frustration taking me over at him demanding I do something. But I open the door anyway and step inside, kicking it shut behind me.

“Your dinner, Sir Darcey,” I mutter, tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Perfect.” His grin widens, then he nods at the floor. “Please do have a seat on the Vanderkolff.”

My lips twitch, but I force it away and place the bag on the floor. He goes to sit, but I stop him. “Come here, for fuck’s sake.” He simply gives me a deer in headlights look, so I stomp over to him, impatiently tugging to undo his laces. “There.”

He shrugs out the straitjacket, dropping it and stretching his arms out. “Thanks.”

“Sit,” I grumble, plopping down and opening the bag of food.

He sits gracefully across from me, a little too close, but I ignore it, handing him his containers.

“Ooh! Spring rolls!” He pops the whole thing into his mouth, chewing blissfully.

“Chef made them,” I say, eyeing him in between opening my food. “Just for you.”

He looks impressed, and I refuse to acknowledge the pleasant warmth it’s giving me. We both dig into our food, eating in silence. But the strangest part is that it’s not awkward. I guess silences between us aren’t usually awkward, now that I think about it. Hell, we begin most of our sessions just staring at each other.

“Thank you for doing this,” he mumbles in between bites.

My brow lifts. “You won the bet, Felix.”

“Yea, but you could have just not done it.” He shrugs. “I mean, what am I gonna do?”

I gawk at him for a moment. I know he’s right. I’m the doctor and he’s an inmate. He’s in no position to demand anything.

“I honor my bets,” I tell him pointedly before going back to my food.

“You’re quite honorable, Sir Love.” He does a fake English accent.

I swallow down another potential smile.

As delicious as the food is, I’m finding it hard to really dig in. I usually have a decent appetite, but right now I’m feeling off. Felix, on the other hand, is ravenous. I know that it’s because he doesn’t get to eat much in here, and when he does, the food isn’t great. Actually, it’s disgusting. I’ve seen it. The best these inmates can hope for are Egg Beaters, chicken nuggets, and Eggo waffles that have been thawed and frozen so many times they’re basically cardboard.

Me bringing Felix any kind of food is a luxury, especially with his grandiose appetite.

I busy myself with cleaning, packing up the leftovers in the bag, which I plan on leaving for him. Too bad he doesn’t have a refrigerator… or any furniture, for that matter.

But watching him in this moment, he doesn’t seem to care. He’s just gleefully eating. I can’t help wondering what’s happening in his mind. I’m sure the truth serum from earlier has worn off… Now he’s just happy to be eating good food.

With me.

I gulp at the thought. That was his stipulation for his winning the bet… He wanted to eat the food with me. Because he likes spending time with me, I presume.

Felix sets his empty container down, letting out a content sigh. “That was life-affirming. Please do give my compliments to the chef.”

I nod, staring at him. He looks a bit tired, probably from all the experiments lately. And from sleeping on the floor every night. Even so, his hair looks very clean and soft, all tousled about.

My eyes drift to his mouth and I notice some sauce on his lip. My mouth goes dry.

“You have…” My voice disappears as he gapes at me.

“Hm?”

I bring my thumb to my lips, but he doesn’t seem to understand what I’m getting at. And I can’t speak. I have no voice.

This is crazy… My words have all disintegrated.

“Did you finish yours?” he asks. But I can’t even focus on what he’s saying, because there’s sauce on his goddamn lip and it’s very distracting.

I shift onto my knees. He stares at me. I crawl. His eyes widen. I crawl closer, until I’m hovering over him, and I grab his jaw.

“W-what’s happening…” he breathes.

“Shut up for a second,” I growl.

And I lean in, brushing my mouth on his until I can feel his warm breath like a kickstart in my balls. I’m vibrating as I seal my lips over his lower, and suck. Just sort of… kissing the sauce off his mouth while he shivers beneath me.

I just need to see… I just want to try…

Felix lets out a needy hum, succumbing to what I’m doing while instantly shifting upward, like he’s giving himself to me. No hesitations or qualms.

He just hands himself right over.

His lip is soft and sweet in my mouth. It tastes like the tart yet sugary flavor of what we were just eating, but mixed with him, something I’ve never tasted before.

It’s a man. I’m kissing a man.

A soft breath leaves me and goes into him. And he welcomes it, parting his lips just enough for me to slide my tongue over his lip. I squeeze his jaw harder with frustratingly dedicated fingers. It’s smooth, freshly shaven. But sharp. So very masculine.

I don’t… I don’t hate it.

Felix whimpers and gives me his tongue, touching mine with his.

And then I panic. I freak the fuck out, releasing him fast and jumping back because what the fuck am I doing??

Why am I kissing him?? Why why why…?

“Don’t stop,” he begs, his voice deep and rough, coarse with arousal, yet soft like satin.

He sounds like a man, because he is one. A man who’s turned on, because I was just kissing him.

I shake my head and rub my eyes. “I just needed to see something…”

“See what?” He scoots closer to me.

I back up. “I was testing you.”

“Testing me?” He repeats my words, forehead lined.

“Yea,” I grunt. “Trying you out.”

He gapes at me, bewildered, for a moment. “What did you think…?”

“I don’t feel anything for you, Felix,” I tell him through a clenched jaw.

If I say the words enough, they’ll be true. That’s how it works, right?

His lashes flutter. “Rude.”

“It’s true,” I mumble, hating the look on his face right now.

“That’s because I have Chinese food breath.” He gasps in outrage. “Let me brush my teeth and it’ll be—”

“No, I didn’t mind that,” I tell him softly. “It tasted… good.”

“Then what?” He crawls toward me again and I crawl away. He’s literally chasing me around the padded cell, both of us on our hands and knees.

What in the actual fuck is happening right now??

“There’s no way you feel nothing,” he hisses.

“That’s what I’m telling you,” I bark back.

“Even just a little something…” He grabs my arm. “A teeny tiny… something…”

I shake my head. “Nope. Nothing.”

“Fuck that.” He huffs, and before I know what’s happening, he’s jumping me.

He tackles me to the floor, holding me down by my arms, using his body weight to pin me to the floor.

I struggle against him. “Felix, stop. This is fully ridiculous.”

“You can’t just kiss someone and then tell them you feel nothing,” he growls over my face. “It’s a dick move.”

“I don’t care.” I shoot him with flames of wrath through my eyes. “Get off of me, Felix. Right now.”

“No.” He shifts his hips, pressing them down into mine. “Do you feel this?”

Our chests are heaving from the exertion of whatever is happening. My face feels hot… In fact, my entire body is burning. His cheeks are pink and his pupils are blown out behind his glasses, chestnut hair hanging in his face while he glares down at me.

“Get off me,” I seethe up at him.

He grinds his hips into me again, and this time I can really feel the shape of his dick on mine. Even through our pants, it’s very hard, and it seems to grow harder each time he thrusts into me.

“Do you feel it, Doctor?” His voice trembles with many things; lust, anger, frustration, confusion. I know because I think I’m feeling the same things right now.

Yes, I feel it. I feel all of it.

But I can’t. I don’t want to.

I roar at him, “I’ll give you five seconds to get the fuck off me before I really lose my shit!”

“Five seconds?” He gasps, out of breath. I nod quickly, and he murmurs, “Fuck it.”

And he drops his mouth onto mine.

Aggressively, savage yet soft, all the same. He’s coming at me with a kiss that I can’t escape. I want to… But I can’t.

“Get off me,” I groan into his mouth, kissing him back because I just don’t know what else to do…

It feels wrong and right at the same time.

I’m so fucking confused.

Our lips move together, and time slows down. I think it stops. The entire world has stopped spinning, and we’re just lying here, kissing. Felix is desperately grinding into me, the friction of his dick on mine creating a fog in my brain that I can’t see through. His mouth is so warm and so sweet, his tongue is silky when it touches mine, and I can’t get over how goddamn good he tastes. It shouldn’t taste good, but it does.

I’m being torn in half. Between the knowledge that I can’t let this happen, and the want. The urgent need to let him keep sucking on my lips like candy.

When he finally lifts his hands and runs them up my chest, I use the opportunity to flip him onto his back. He gazes up at me, breathlessly panting, while I do the same.

“You’re not in charge, Felix,” I hum with my dreads hanging around my face, our fingers lacing together while I hold his hands down.

“I’m fine with that,” he breathes. “Just admit that you feel something.”

“I ain’t admitting shit.” I let go of one of his hands, running mine up to his throat.

He uses the free hand to cup my cock over my pants. It’s hard.

Goddammit, it’s so fucking hard. How is this even possible??

“You want this.” He squeezes my shaft.

“I don’t.”

“Then why aren’t you leaving?” He looks smug, even though his eyelids are drooping in obvious arousal.

“Shut up and take it out,” I growl a command at him.

I’ve forfeited all semblance of what’s going on. All I have is sensation. Touch and taste and smell and sight. I’m wandering lost in this moment.

I give Felix his other hand and he uses both to frantically pull my cock out.

“Yours too,” I breathe. He gazes up at me for a moment with moist shivering lips. “Stroke them together.”

He whines wiggles his pants down enough to get his erection out. It’s so hard I can almost see the veins throbbing, tip glistening with precum. I press my hips down and he makes a fist around both of our cocks together. We both groan quietly.

It looks captivating. His pale skin and my dark. My dick is longer than his, but not by much at all. And his is slightly thicker. It’s very proportionate. He can barely close his hand around us both.

My heart is flying in my chest, jumping wildly against my ribs, while blood rushes in my ears louder than my aggressive breaths. Letting need drive me, I drop my mouth onto his again and he moans like a sob of desire between my lips.

“Make us both come.” I gasp, shaking and sweaty and kissing him feverishly. “At the same time. Both.”

“Uh-huh,” he pants and nods, jerking us harder, faster.

The feeling of his cock on mine is insane. I’ve never felt anything like it. It feels wrong, but good. Amazingly good. My eyes spring to the window on the door and a shiver of excitement tears through me.

Jesus, I shouldn’t be doing this.

It’s reprehensible.

My balls throb, and my cock pulses, leaking onto his.

“Fuck, I like that,” he whines, thrusting his hips up to mine while he strokes.

“Felix…” I mumble on his lips with my head spinning.

“Dr. Love,” he groans, hoarse and quivering all over.

“This is bad…” Reaching down, I shove my pants down farther, then rip his down enough so that we can rub our balls together. A wild moan escapes me. “This is so fucking bad.”

“Everything I do is bad,” he whispers.

We’re practically wearing each other, stifling hot bodies sealed together while I grind him into the floor and he jerks us into a frenzy.

“You’re not… supposed to do me.” I grip his hair in my fist and suck his bottom lip.

“You can do me,” he gasps, pleading. “I will let you do anything to me, Dr. Love.”

“Jesus, I’m gonna come,” I grunt, pushing into his fist, over and over. “Come with me.”

“I’m there,” he whimpers.

I’m spinning the fuck out, burning and coiling up. I can’t even believe I just came a few hours ago because I’m about to burst at the seams.

“Come in your hand,” I demand, breathing heavily over his mouth. “Don’t spill a drop, of either of ours. Got it?”

He nods fast. “Fuck fuck fuck… Doctor…”

“Mmm…”

Chills wash over me while my cock bursts, cum spurting out in long, aching pulses. I glance between us to watch, Felix’s dick doing the same while he purrs like a happy kitten. Both of our dicks blow our orgasms and he catches it in his hand. There’s cum all over his palm and fingers.

He lets out a ragged breath, his eyes coming back up to mine. We stare at each other for one quiet moment that feels like an eternity.

The psychiatrist and the psychopath.

“Lick it up,” I whisper. “Eat it all.”

He does it without an ounce of protest. Lifting his hand, he licks all the cum off of his fingers and his palm. He’s barely done when I grab his face and kiss his mouth, sucking his lips and tasting his tongue. The flavor is so inherently masculine. I’ve never tasted it before… I’ve never even kissed a girl who just went down on me. But here I am, tonguing Felix down with our joined orgasms moving between our mouths.

The sounds of us kissing and breathing are the only things to be heard. And when I come down from the high, I scramble off of him, startled.

“Don’t run,” he begs. “Please.”

I shake my head, standing up and tucking my dick away. “I have to go. This is so fucked up…”

“But… I’ll see you tomorrow. Right…?”

Gazing down at him, he looks so hopeful. I don’t want to crush him, but I think I have to. None of this makes any sense.

“I don’t know. We’ll see.” I straighten myself up while Felix just sits on the floor, pulling his pants back up and fidgeting in place.

“The rest of the food is yours,” I mumble. “Just don’t leave it out. Roaches…”

He nods, but says nothing.

I open the cell door, ready to jump through it and run. But I peek at him one last time over my shoulder. He’s sitting there, flushed, disheveled, and even though I don’t think I can admit it to myself… He’s sort of beautiful.

My lips part, but I have no idea what to say.

So I simply utter a robotic, “Goodnight, Felix.”

And I leave with the slam of the padded cell door.

“What the fuck happened in here?”

My eyes peel open at the sound of the raspy, displeased female voice. It takes me a moment to remember where I am, which never really happens to me. At least, it hasn’t since I’ve been locked up.

But this time, I’m groggy. Like I was buried six feet deep in the grave of undisturbed slumber. My mind becomes suddenly frantic, trying to remember if I dreamt.

I don’t think I did… I don’t recall any details. Still, I feel like I just came out of a coma.

“Yo, killer bee…” Joy steps farther into the cell, avoiding the empty Chinese food containers scattered everywhere. She bends to look in my eyes, then snaps her fingers in front of my face. “You with me?”

I flinch and back up, rubbing my eyes. “Yea, I’m fine. I was asleep, in case you didn’t pick that up from the fact that my eyes were closed.”

“Don’t be a smartass,” she rumbles. “Look at this mess. Who do you think is gonna clean this up??”

“Claude.” I shrug.

She makes a face. “Yea, I guess you’re right.” Then she grabs me by the arm. “But still, get it together, homeboy. I need to bring you for a shower, and I don’t have all day.”

She hauls me to my feet, and I wobble a bit. My legs feel like jelly… Man, I was out cold.

Is this what comes from consistent orgasms? I feel so refreshed.

Maybe Dr. Love was right… Maybe I haven’t been truly satisfied with my sex life. Until now.

The memories of last night ripple through my mind like a sparkly wave of bright colors and dazzling sensations. My flesh instantly sheets with goosebumps and I slowly rub my arms.

Recalling that I’m standing next to Joy, I peek at her, and she narrows her gaze at me.

“Why is your straitjacket off?” she asks suspiciously. “And where’d you get the food?”

My lips part, but nothing comes out. Her jaw ticks visibly.

“Let me guess… Dr. Dickwad.” She gets up in my face. I back up instinctively until I hit the wall. “Listen here, you whacked out little brat. Do you have any idea what your pal has done to this island? What he started?? We’re all fucked now because of that shit he pulled.”

“Why is everyone acting like he’s the one who fucked up?” I mutter in disbelief. “I’m the one who killed O’Malley. Me. Blame me, not him.”

Her head tilts. “It’s sweet that you’re defending him, #89, but facts are facts. How did you get access to O’Malley in the first place, hm?” I blink at her, speechless. “That’s what I thought. His actions are the stone that caused the ripples we’re all being forced to dodge now. Inmates escaped, lives fucking lost… All because of him.”

The muscles in my body are bunched up, a tightness squeezing my chest that I can’t breathe away. I want so badly to defend Dr. Love. I don’t want them to come for him, even though I guess technically she’s right.

Maybe if I hadn’t killed O’Malley… Maybe if I hadn’t let Dash leave…

I blink hard, keeping my eyes closed for a few seconds while my stomach ties up in knots.

I never question myself. What the hell is going on??

A voice calls over her walkie, distracting me from my inner turmoil. “Yo, Joy. We’ve got a situation… Don’t bring #89 to the East showers.”

Joy huffs out of frustration, stepping back and whipping her walkie off her holster. “What is the malfunction, Brenner?”

“A pipe burst or something… It’s a mess down here,” the voice of Officer Brenner answers, sounding distressed.

“Fuck my life,” Joy mumbles, glaring at me. She’s quiet for a moment before checking her watch. “What about you guys’ locker room?”

“Uh… you can do whatever you want, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Brenner says warily.

“Yea, yea, I know,” she sighs. “Alright, fine. Just… get someone to fix the goddamn pipe.” She cuts him off while he’s speaking. “Hancock? Jasper? Either one of you copy?”

“What’s up, Jamesy?” A new voice comes over the walkie.

“I have to bring #89 up to gen-pop for a shower.” She blinks at me.

Jesus, all this drama over a shower. If they’d let me, I’d just go bathe in the ocean.

The person on the other end sighs audibly into the receiver. “Okay. You’re the boss.”

“Fuck you,” Joy growls, hooking her walkie back into her holster and grabbing a pair of cuffs. “Alright, killer bee. Let’s do this.” She fastens them to my wrists, then does my ankles with the shackles. “Word of advice; stay close to me.”

I can’t help but gulp as some new nerves fizzle in my limbs. “Why…? What’s going on up there?”

“Let’s just say, word is out that you killed O’Malley. And not everyone thinks he deserved to die as much as you apparently did.”

Shit.

I’m still wrapping my head around all this as she pulls me out of my cell and yanks me along with her, stumbling to keep up. We walk the halls in silence; nothing but the stomp of her combat boots and the clanking of my chains echoing off the crumbling concrete. Before we get to the end of the last corridor in the East, Joy bangs her fist three times on a door.

“Someone go clean up #89’s cell,” she shouts, but doesn’t stick around to chat.

She just keeps pulling me, through the next set of doors, which she opens with keys. Now we’re walking through solitary.

People shout at the sounds of our footsteps, calling through the familiar large red metal doors about how they’re hungry and dying. It causes me to swallow down the memories of being in there for weeks.

As much as I hate being fucked with in the East, at least in there I get regular food and showers. And orgasms, apparently.

Sucking in a breath, I wonder where Dr. Love is right now. I wonder if I’ll even get to see him today, or if he’ll be off hiding. Cowering in his straight-guy-who-just-experimented-with-a-man-for-the-first-time corner for days on end until he finally feels comfortable looking at me again.

I roll my eyes to myself. This is why I don’t hook up with straight guys. Every interaction is followed by all this self-doubt and reflection. It stresses me out. I have enough going on myself, what with murdering my sexual partners and all. I don’t have time to worry about them questioning their identities.

Honestly, what’s wrong with being bisexual, anyway? It’s not like being a man who hooks up with other men needs to be a big deal. If you still like women, great. More power to you. Just do who you wanna do and call it a day, that’s my motto.

There are too many labels. And you know what labels are? They’re just ways for people to feel in control, when in reality, there is no control. The world is chaos. Period.

Joy brings us out of solitary row, and through the winding hallways that lead up to general population. I haven’t been here in a while. I don’t even remember the last time, but it was definitely before I was sent to the East. Glancing around, I’m reacquainted with how different it feels up here.

It somehow feels cleaner, even though really, it’s not. But it’s technically higher up than solitary and the East, so there’s less mildew and ocean smell. Less mold on the walls, though it’s definitely still there.

We walk past the rows of gen-pop cells, first the one I used to live in before I killed Wilkerson, then the rest, where the other inmates are housed. It’s loud as fuck, something I didn’t miss. The shouts are almost deafening. Inmates screaming, fighting, screwing. There’s so much noise, and what’s craziest is that Joy doesn’t even seem to notice it.

I remember I used to block it out, too. But now that I’ve been in the quiet for months, I have the strong urge to cover my ears.

We pass the corridors for the cafeteria, which must have a bunch of inmates inside for breakfast, because you can hear the chatter through three separate doors. Only another minute of walking, and we’re at the showers. It literally took us fifteen minutes to walk up here.

No wonder Joy didn’t want to do this.

She stops me with a hand on my chest before I can walk in, stepping over to two guards who are posted up just outside the doors to the showers. I don’t remember their names since I’ve barely interacted with them, but one is built with a crewcut and the other is taller and slimmer, with shaggy hair brushed back and tattoos on his arms.

“Is #62 in there?” Joy asks them. One of them nods. Joy rolls her eyes. “Great.”

She grabs me and yanks me through the doors, bringing me to a shower stall all the way at the end of the room before removing my chains.

“Make it quick, okay?” she says, a little too seriously for my liking. I nod fast. “I’ll be right out there.” She nods toward the doors.

I undress quickly while Joy wanders away to linger outside the entryway. The fact that she seems on high-alert has panic rising inside me.

I’m really not a fighter. I know this might seem surprising, being that I’m able to literally squeeze the life out of men larger than me, but it’s true. The element of surprise works in my favor, and yes, I can defend myself, if need be, but I don’t scrap.

I’m an introvert. I hate confrontation.

Stacking my folded clothes up on the concrete wall that separates the showers, I press the button for water and move my naked self beneath the spray. I contemplate leaving my glasses on for a moment… I know I’m not supposed to shower with them on, but I really hate not being able to see clearly, especially when I’m vulnerable like this.

Still, I decide to take them off, leaving them with my clothes before dunking my head under the low-pressure stream of lukewarm water. It feels good to clean myself. I wish I had my toothbrush up here, but of course it’s in the room with the burst pipe. I’ll have to ask Joy if I can grab it when we’re done.

Opening my mouth, I catch some water and swoosh it around before spitting it on the floor. It reminds me of what Dr. Love said last night… about how he liked the taste of kissing me.

My dick moves at the memory.

He’s just so different from any guy I’ve ever hooked up with. He’s older and so very serious… Stoic and severe. Quiet. I mean, how many times have we just sat and stared at one another?

But it doesn’t feel unpleasant when he does it. It feels good… Like having his attention on me is right.

Running my hands through my wet hair, I reach out and pump some soap into my hand from the dispenser on the wall. It’s not as nice smelling as the Dove soap bar I have downstairs, but I guess it’ll do. Using it to wash myself all over, I quickly swipe it through my hair, under my arms, my balls… the whole nine. LOL.

But as I’m rinsing off, I feel someone watching me. I turn quick, blinking droplets of water from my eyes.

There’s a man standing there, but without my glasses, he’s hard to make out. I can tell he has black hair and a few tattoos. Tannish skin, average height and build.

“So… you’re The Carver, huh?”

My heart thumps as I reach for my glasses. But they’re not there.

Where are they?? I left them right there!

My pulse speeds up as the man comes closer. I lift my hands. “Look, I don’t want any trouble.”

Before I even know what’s happening, he’s lunging at me. His hand is around my throat and he has my naked body pinned to the wall with his.

Up close like this, I can see that he’s Asian. I’ve seen him around before, but I don’t know his name.

“You killed my cellmate,” he growls in my face. “You killed my friend.”

Does he mean O’Malley? He must… after what Joy said to me downstairs, I’m guessing this guy is pissed off about my dealing with Kieran. And I know I should probably apologize or something to get him to back off… But it’s really not in my nature.

I swallow beneath his palm, registering that he’s very warm, and our dicks are touching. “Your friend… deserved to die.”

The man bares his teeth, lifting my neck away from the wall, then slamming it backward until my skull cracks on the concrete. It hurts like a bitch, and I hiss, eyes squeezing shut.

“You know, psycho… I should fuck you raw for what you did to my friend. But you’d probably like it,” he seethes in my face. “So instead, I’m just gonna fuck you up. Leave you bleeding… See how you like that.”

My heart is hammering, fear winding up inside me. But still, I accept what’s coming to me. I brace myself for intense pain and murmur, “You do whatever you feel like you need to do, man.”

I wish the expression on his face was visible, but he’s just blurry. Still, I think I make out his eyebrows zipping together…

Before he shoots a right hook directly into my gut.

“Fuck,” I cough, bending at the waist and gripping my stomach.

It was hard as hell. I feel like I might spit out some blood. And just as I see his form rearing back to pummel me in the face, someone swings around the wall and grabs him.

“Byron… hey,” the male voice says, fighting against my attacker while he tries to break free from his hold. “Stop. It’s not necessary.”

“Like fuck it’s not!” the Asian guy roars. “He killed O’Malley! Don’t you fucking care?!”

“Not really,” the other guy breathes, casually impervious.

I straighten up, trying to reach for my clothes while I watch their blurry forms. The new guy is tall, also with black hair, but it looks longer, wet and hanging over his forehead. He has paler skin and a few tattoos. He’s also quite cut. Even my blind ass can notice his sick body without my glasses.

“Fuck you, Ren.” the Asian guy huffs, shoving him away. I tense, but it seems like he’s no longer coming after me. “You’re an asshole.”

“Okay, yes. That’s true.” The other guy—Ren, I’ve definitely heard his name around—nods, grabbing his friend by the arm again. “But so was O’Malley. You can’t pretend he didn’t deserve this shit…”

“Deserve to be slaughtered by this prick?!” he barks, jutting a thumb my way.

I quickly scramble into my clothes, wet, because I don’t have time to search for a towel, and I don’t want to be standing around naked, waiting to get my ass kicked some more. Plus, I’m realizing now that Ren has a towel around his waist, and he’s just handed one to his friend, Byron.

“Yo, Kang, he was sick.” A new voice comes from around the corner, another guy wandering over while pulling up his pants. He’s sort of my complexion, shaved head. Sharp angles I can make out through the blur.

“We’re all sick,” Kang replies, then pauses. “Except maybe you.”

“Thanks.” The shaved-head guy chuckles. He walks over to where I’m standing, looking me over. Then he turns back to Kang. “Give him his glasses, man.”

“Can’t. I fuckin stomped ’em.” Kang shrugs.

“That’s fucked up,” Ren mumbles.

“Sorry, man,” the new guy says to me, waving a hand in front of my face. “Can you see anything?”

I flinch and move away. “Leave me alone. I’m fucking fine.”

“Yea, you’re fine alright, Carver.” Kang scoffs. “I catch you up here again, and I’ll waste your ass. For O’Malley, since apparently these dickheads don’t care.” Then he jerks away from Ren, stomping out of sight.

Ren lets out a breath, stepping closer. “You okay?”

“What’s it to you?” I grunt, feeling all sorts of insecurities after just being attacked in the damn shower.

And now my glasses are even more broken. Great. Hopefully, Dr. Love has that new pair for me.

“Just checking.” Ren bends down and then comes back up laughing. “Kang’s an idiot. He stomped these with his bare foot. There’s blood everywhere.”

The other guy chuckles. “He’s so dramatic.”

He takes my broken glasses from Ren and hands them to me. I try putting them on, but the frames have seen better days, and the lenses are cracked to shit. I end up taking them off and gripping them angrily in my fist.

Ducking away from them, I step into my shoes, prepared to bolt. But the shaved head guy grabs my arm.

“Hey… So you were the last one to see Dash, huh?” he asks, his tone calm, polite and sort of caring. He seems like a nice guy… But then I don’t even know him.

I give his blurry face a skeptical look before nodding slowly. “Yea… so? You wanna kick my ass for letting him out, too??”

“First of all, Lexington didn’t kick your ass.” Ren steps to me. “Byron did, and he’s just mad because you murdered his friend. I’m sure you can understand that, right?” I blink at him. “You can’t possibly tell me you’ve never come for someone who hurt your friend…”

My mind immediately goes to Tom Kline…

I would kill him a million more times for Cam if I could.

I allow my shoulders to drop a bit.

“I’m Luthor,” the kid with the shaved head says. “And Dash was my cellmate. He was my friend. So I just wanna know if he was alright. When you saw him…”

Remembering the day I opened Dash’s cell in the East Wing and cut that straitjacket off of him, I nod. “I let him out. Then I gave him the keys and my sneakers. That’s all I know.”

Luthor and Ren share a look.

“How in the fuck did he know where to go?” Ren combs fingers through his dark hair.

“We’ve talked about it so many times.” Luthor sighs. “The East Wing door, right, left, left, right, then the sewer; that way you avoid the heat at the side exit. I was down there, man. I saw it.”

“Okay… so that gets you out of the prison. How would he know what to do after that? I mean, no one’s attempted Shark Bay since fucking Toby.”

Luthor gives Ren a look. I can tell by the way they’re sort of staring at each other that they must be good friends, or have some kind of connection that allows them to share telepathic thoughts.

“The boat,” Ren says as it dawns on him. Luthor nods. “Velle’s fucking boat. Jesus, that crazy Russian lunatic.” He huffs a laugh, shaking his head.

“I know. That’s what I’m saying,” Luthor murmurs. “It’s crazy, but like… it makes some sense.”

“Do I need to be present for this conversation?” I grumble.

Ren’s chin jerks in my direction, and he makes a show of looking me up and down slowly. “You give new meaning to the term cute but psycho, you know that?”

Luthor shoves him away from me. “Alright, ignore him. He’s a thirst trap. Go on, get your glasses fixed. We won’t keep you.”

I sway in place for a moment, staring at him, wishing I could see clearer. I have a feeling I might like these guys… They seem decent.

“Thanks,” I mutter, turning away.

Luthor’s voice catches me on the way out. “And Darcey…” I spin to face him. “Thanks. For helping Dash.”

I nod. It feels like all I can do.

Then I leave the showers, going back to Joy. Back down to my quiet section of Hell.

A few hours have passed.

After the shower, Joy brought me to eat in the cafeteria, which was another fun experience. I barely got a few bites down before inmates were lashing out at me from every side. It was bedlam… I had guards surrounding me with guns drawn while she dragged me out and back to safety.

Apparently, the prison is on lockdown after what happened. The Warden has Velle running around confiscating everyone’s swag, and there’s a huge halt on the sex-for-goods trade that usually goes on here. Meaning the inmates are being forced to live this shitty life on a secluded island without even the barest of essentials for entertainment, like books, porn, and cigarettes.

If I could feel bad, I think I would right now. I really didn’t intend to make everyone’s lives a living hell. I’m just a killer who saw an opportunity.

The thing that’s craziest, though, is all of this seems to be stemming from Dash’s escape, rather than O’Malley’s death. Kang is the only person who’s actively upset about that. But from what I’m gathering, the lockdown is all about Dash.

After my attempt at lunch, Joy went and grabbed my things from the room with the burst pipe and let me brush my teeth in a different locker room. It must be for guards only, because the lockers had names on them, and she was standing right next to me, rushing me the whole time.

Now I’m just sitting in my padded cell, blind as a damn bat, wondering when the hell I’ll get new glasses. I know it isn’t easy to get things on this island, but Dr. Love usually seems to obtain stuff with little effort. Still, something like prescription glasses might be a bit more difficult. I hope he’s not affected by this lockdown too…

My anxiety is high over this. I hate not being able to see, and what’s more, I can’t stop fidgeting around in anticipation of being in the same room as my doctor again. We left things pretty up in the air after last night. I’ve gotten used to seeing him basically every day, but since things got physical, he’s been pumping the brakes.

I don’t like it. I’m attached to him now. More so than I have been to anyone in a while.

I know I have a tendency to crush on guys, but this feels different. Dr. Love is a presence I desperately want around, and for more than just the ultimate kill. I want to get inside him the way he has with me. To crawl into his deep down; cuddle up in there.

Unfortunately, I don’t see him letting that happen any time soon.

My temples are throbbing, a strong headache clutching inside my skull from not having my glasses for so long. I’m trying to rest my eyes when footsteps clunk from up the hall, coming directly at my cell. I stand up in preparation.

Keys jingle, the door opens, and I’m met with the sandy blonde hair and mossy green eyes of Rook. “Hey, #89. Against the wall, please.” He sounds exhausted.

I turn and place my forehead flat on the wall as he comes up behind me and cuffs my wrists. No shackles this time. He must be too tired… Or he just doesn’t care anymore.

As we’re walking the halls, I can’t help peeking at him. He’s actually an inch or so shorter than me, but he carries himself in a way that you don’t even notice it. He has this cop air about him… It makes me nervous more than anything.

It reminds me of the day I was caught.

The sounds of shouting fill my ears. Scopes pointed at my head.

I shake it off. “Is it true the prison is on lockdown?”

Rook doesn’t answer me. He’s gaze is aimed forward, strong hand wrapped around my bicep as he pulls me along, stumbling because I can’t fucking see.

“Is the Warden pissed?” I ask quietly.

“What do you think?” Rook hisses, an angry look I can barely make out falling to me.

Alright, jeez. Relax.

I don’t speak another word.

We reach Dr. Love’s office, and in an instant, my heart is jumping up into my throat. Rook knocks on the door, opens it, and shoves me inside, removing my cuffs and storming away before the door is even done closing behind him.

My blurred gaze goes across the room to where Dr. Love is sitting at his desk. For a moment he doesn’t acknowledge me, and I just stand there, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do. This is so awkward…

I’ve only ever hooked up with guys who I’ve killed after. Accept Bobby, but he was just an idiot. I’ve never had to repeatedly face a man after doing what Dr. Love and I have done together. Especially one as buttoned-up-straight as him.

I clear my throat, prepared to ask about my new glasses, but before I can, I see him jumping up from his desk. He rounds it and storms over to me fast, getting up close to me. He’s all I can smell… That mouthwatering scent, like sweet and musky together. Dessert and rich leather, or something. It’s intoxicating.

I tilt my face up to look at him, wishing like hell he wasn’t so foggy. Still, I can make him out. Like his darker skin is easier for my eyes to distinguish or something, who knows. But I love it so much. It gives me comfort, deep in my bones.

“Your eyes…” he breathes, voice rumbling into me like bass. And all I can think about is the way it felt to have his lips on mine. His dick in my hand and his tongue in my mouth…

Jesus, it was like a bite of forbidden fruit. More so than any evil thing I’ve ever done.

He clears his throat and inches away. “What happened to your glasses?”

“Someone broke them in the showers,” I tell him.

His hand lifts. It almost touches me, but he pulls it away before it can. “Are you hurt?”

I shake my head. “I just hate not being able to see…”

“I know,” he says softly.

He walks to the table by the door and picks up a package, opening it quickly. When he comes back to me, he has frames in his hand.

“I hope they’re right. I had to call around to get your most recent prescription.”

And then he places them onto my face. Slides them on slowly, like Cinderella’s glass slipper.

If I wasn’t swooning so goddamn hard, I’d feel like the biggest loser in the world. But I don’t even care.

That was… sexy as fuck.

I can see his face now, perfectly. He’s crystal clear. Serious, stern, robotic, as usual. But with the tiniest hint of nervous affection that makes me want to drop to my knees right here.

“Perfect,” I whisper, then blink. “I mean… it looks great. Thank you.”

“I got you two pairs,” he hums. “Just in case you get your ass kicked again.”

His lips quirk. I’m so fucking glad I can actually see it.

“Funny,” I mumble, pursing down the grin.

“So…” he breathes, stepping back. Just once, but still… It aches my chest with the desire to pull him closer. “Dramatic morning, hm?”

“I’ll say.” I stretch my arms out, finally able to relax again now that I have my glasses. I touch them just to make sure they’re the same and they are. Exactly. “This place is turned upside down… And it’s all my fault.”

“Or it’s our fault,” he says pointedly.

I roll my eyes. “I don’t see it that way. I’d like to think I’m resourceful enough to manage things on my own.”

“Yea, well, there’s only so much you can do trapped inside a cell, Felix.” He huffs. “You’re not the Incredible Hulk, after all.”

“Says who?” I tilt my face. “Some people think I’m incredible.”

Dr. Love squints at me. “Like who?”

“Mmm… I don’t know…” I shrug, then reach out to brush my fingers along his belt. “Maybe… you?”

He quickly grabs my hand and I gasp. “Speaking of… I need to talk to you about what happened last night.”

“What about it?” I gaze up at him, admiring his lines and curves. The slopes of his lips… Like two full life-rafts I just want to sit on.

“It was a mistake,” he says firmly.

My stomach falls. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“Yes, it does. Felix, this cannot happen. I’m your doctor. Plus, I’m straight.” He looks serious, but he’s still holding my wrist, gripping it in his hand.

“You did feel pretty straight when you were kissing me,” I mumble sarcastically.

His jaw ticks. “That was a mistake. It shouldn’t have happened.”

“But it did.” I glare at him.

“Yea, well… A lot of things happen that shouldn’t. It’s called life.” He drops my wrist. “I don’t have time to debate this with you, Felix. I’m just telling you it won’t happen again because I’m not interested and you’re my patient. End of story.”

My heart has sped up sort of frantically at the idea that he’s really telling me off. It reminds me of Isaac. I knew he wanted me, but he had to do the whole song and dance because he was scared. And then what happened?

I saw him at a gay club grinding with a guy.

The body doesn’t lie, man.

So instead of freaking out and screaming like my heart wants me to, I simply bite down on the inside of my cheek and shrug. “Fine. Whatever. Your loss.”

Dr. Love’s amber gaze narrows at my face. “Really? You’re okay with everything I just said?”

Harnessing every single bit of chill I have inside myself, I nod. “Yep. You’re actually not that good of a kisser, anyway. I think maybe I was just bored.”

A darkness passes through his eyes, his features growing harsh. “Is that right…”

“Mhm.” I wander over to the couch. “Maybe I’ll try hooking up with Templeton. I mean, he has made me come, after all.”

A hand suddenly wraps around my throat from behind and, in an instant, his large body is at my back.

“You said he wasn’t your type,” he growls in my ear. My dick is hard in seconds flat.

“I lied,” I whisper, resisting the urge to grind my ass against his crotch.

I’m not sure what about this man turns me so needy, but I’m not trying to overthink it. I want things with Dr. Love that I’ve never tried before. Things I think I’ve always secretly wanted, but didn’t have the stomach to ask for.

I was always too busy bending over backwards for the guys who were ultimately going to leave me. Either on their own or by my hand.

“I think you’re lying now.” He squeezes my throat, causing a tightness in my face. “I saw you in that video, Felix. You liked the feeling, but you didn’t want it from him.”

“Wow, you really zoomed in on that shit, didn’t you?” I chuckle, and he lets out a low noise, choking me tighter. “How many times have you watched it?”

“Shut up, Felix… This isn’t going to work,” he hisses. “The only thing you’re about to do is make me beat your ass.”

“I think I might like that too,” I purr, giving in and dragging my ass along his crotch.

I can feel the shape of him, gliding in between the crack through my pants. It’s wildly satisfying.

Dr. Love spins, shoving me toward the door. My front connects with it, and I grunt at the pain. Still, it turns me on. I never knew how badly I wanted this… To be manhandled like a common whore.

Turns out it’s a hidden kink. Who knew?

“I think it’s time for you to go.” Dr. Love releases me, reaching for the door handle. “You’re pissing me off too much today.”

“Why?” I peer at him over my shoulder. “Because I’m forcing you to confront your feelings? Because you know you secretly want to rip my clothes off as much as I want you to…?”

His face goes bewildered for a second. “I don’t…”

“Yes, you do,” I state firmly. “And the sooner you accept it, the sooner we can move past this fight-then-fuck bullshit and just fuck.”

He snarls out of frustration and slams his palm down flat on the door, right beside my head. I can’t help but flinch. “You’re driving me fucking crazy. What the fuck is it about you? I swear to God, no one’s ever made me feel so… so…”

“So what?” I gasp, shivering all over with need.

“Out of control,” he hums, pressing himself into me from behind. “So desperate for something I’ve literally never wanted before.”

“It’s just sex, Doctor…” I pant heavily.

He traps me between his large body and the door. “Sex with a man… I’m not gay, Felix.”

“It’ll feel the same, I promise,” I whimper. “Probably better.”

“You’re obnoxious,” he says, out of breath, grabbing the waist of my pants and forcing them down to my thighs.

My cock is so hard it tries to spring out, but it doesn’t have room because of the door, so it’s pointed at the floor. Dr. Love pulls away from me just enough to cup my ass in his strong hands and I mewl like a needy fucking slut.

“Your ass is nice, though…” he mumbles in wonder, fingers roaming so close to the crack that I’m quavering. “Really nice. Round, full, peachy ass.”

“Mmm… It’s warm and tight for you,” I tell him with my head spinning.

I’ve never pleaded to be fucked before… I don’t even know how I would react to having him fuck me. The only thing that’s ever been inside my ass is that glass dildo Templeton used. But for some reason, Dr. Love just makes me want to bend over.

Is it because I’m so desperate to please the guys I want? That I’ll be whoever they want me to be just to get them to stay…

I hope not, but we’ll never know if we don’t try.

Dr. Love massages my bare ass for a moment, before shoving a finger up to my lips. “Suck.”

I do, slow and wet, making sure to watch him over my shoulder. His eyes never leave mine, save for the occasional drop to my mouth. His wide chest is fluctuating, ready to burst out of that button-down that barely fits him. It’s a fucking delicious sight. He looks so dangerous… Older and scary. Like he might be the one to kill me.

The thrill it gives me inside is unrivaled.

Once his finger is wet, he brings it back down to my ass. And using his other hand to hold me open, he presses it up to my asshole, slowly but persuasive enough that I feel instant pressure.

“Let’s test it out,” he says, with his eyes still on my lips. “See if it’s really as tight as you say it is.”

“It’ll be even tighter on your—”

His mouth drops onto mine. Just one, warm, soft kiss before he pulls back. “Don’t talk shit, sick boy. I only want you to answer my questions, okay?”

I nod. “Yes, Doctor.”

“Good. Now, relax.”

He shoves the tip of his finger inside me. My body struggles against it for a second, but he pushes harder, forcing me to take the digit with a grunt.

“Mmm… that’s it,” he hums in my ear, his breath warming me. “It is tight.”

He urges the finger in deeper and I moan, “Fuck…”

“Does it feel good?” He pushes as far as his finger can go, yanking my hips back with the other hand.

“Yea.” My voice cracks.

Withdrawing it slowly, he asks, “Is this how good it felt when Templeton did it? The experiment…”

Jesus Christ, he’s jealous.

I feel like I could come on cue, just knowing that he’s worried about me enjoying something that asshole Templeton did more than what he’s doing now.

My forehead drops to the door while he thrusts the finger back in all the way, until his knuckles are on my ass cheeks. I groan out softly, eyes rolling back when he touches that elusive spot I’ve heard so many of my partners sob about.

“Answer me, Felix.” He cages me in, curling the finger in a way that feels uncomfortable, but only for a second before it’s lighting me the fuck up.

“Fuck, it’s better.” I shiver out the words, letting him hold me to him, guiding me by his finger in my ass. “So, so much better…”

“Yea?” He drops his lips to the nape of my neck, not quite kissing, but sort of brushing them on my sensitive skin.

My cock is leaking on the floor, I can feel it.

“Yea…” My fingers dig into the metal of the door.

He develops a bit of a rhythm with his fingering, in and out; slow but as deep as possible, pulling all the way out to the tip before adding another. I’m trying hard to control my volume, but I don’t think anything has ever felt this good, even raw, with no real lube other than my spit.

“You were right about it being warm, too,” he murmurs, buckets of arousal and some sprinkled fascination in his tone. He sounds even more turned on and hungry for me than last night, and I’m living for it. “You want me to put my cock in this tight, warm little hole?”

My entire body practically convulses. “Yes… God, yes. Please, Dr. Love.”

“Please what…” His hand runs around to my abs, fingers trailing along the curves of my pelvis.

“Please fuck me,” I beg, not giving a single fuck how desperate I sound. I need this.

I want him to nail me to the goddamn door.

“I really don’t think I should…” he mumbles, as if he’s talking to himself. He definitely sounds certain that he thinks he shouldn’t, but he also doesn’t particularly sound like he cares.

“Should is for morons.” I grip his forearm, and he chuckles. “Just… please. Please, please, please.”

“Have you ever begged for dick like this before?” he asks, amused.

“No, and I’m not ashamed. I want yours.” I turn my chin to peek at him. His head cocks curiously. “It doesn’t have to mean anything, Dr. Love. Just please try it.”

His eyes assess me for a moment, something I can’t place shimmering in them. He licks his lips and drops his gaze. Then he gradually withdraws his fingers from my ass.

A noise escapes me, causing his eyes to jump back to mine. “You’ve never been fucked before?”

I know he’s not referring to the glass dildo, so I shake my head slowly. He rumbles, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. I try turning a little to see what he’s doing, but he pushes me back against the door.

Still, I can tell when his dick is out because he runs it along my ass crack.

“You think you’ll be able to handle all this dick on your first try?” he asks, smug but also like he’s sincerely wondering. I nod frantically. He pushes it between my cheeks. “I don’t have any lube…”

“What the fuck ever,” I gasp.

His hand slides down to my balls, and he grips them, squeezing until I whine. “Behave, monster.”

“Ahh… yes, sir. Sorry, Doctor,” I ramble, and he releases me. I let out a breath.

“That’s right,” he hums, then gives me his other hand and commands, “Spit.”

I do, spitting as much as I can in his palm. Then he does the same, using it to lubricate himself. Fuck, I think this might hurt, but I really don’t even care.

I think I might prefer it that way.

Suddenly, I feel a smooth, fat head pressing up against my asshole. I clench like an instinct, but he brushes his lips on my neck again.

“Let me in, Felix. You wanted this.”

Forcing my body to relax, I focus on the sinful feeling of his tip nudging its way up to my hole. Even then, it doesn’t go right in. But it tries to. He spits on his hand a few more times, running slippery fingers around where his dick is trying to tunnel its way inside me.

“None of the anal virgins I’ve ever fucked have made me work for it like this, Felix,” he breathes, pushing and pushing.

“I’m… I’m sorry.” I relax even more, bending at the waist to give him my ass.

“Don’t be,” he purrs in my ear. “I like it.”

“Fuck…” I moan. And finally, the head slips in.

I moan again. So does he.

My dick leaks more precum onto the floor while his silky round tip breaks through my ass. It feels fucking phenomenal already. I can’t even think. I’m all sensation.

“Jesus, that’s good.” Dr. Love’s voice is hoarse from behind me, gripping me tight while the very beginning of his dick just lingers inside me. “You’re making a mess all over the floor.”

“Can’t… help it.” My chest is burning with need, just like the burn below my waist as my head lolls back into him.

He bites my neck, inching farther inside me. “I can’t believe I’m fucking a serial killer…” I whine out loud and he shushes me. “Quiet, monster. Keep still and let me show you who’s boss.”

Just as his dick is blazing its unlubricated way inside me an inch more, we hear footsteps.

Dr. Love freezes. My breathing is heavy as hell, so he slaps his hand over my mouth.

They’re growing closer.

“Not a fucking word,” he hisses in my ear as the steps move right up to the other side of the door we’re on.

Then someone knocks.

My pulse is jumping like crazy inside me, blood rushing so loudly in my ears I can barely hear. And I can feel Dr. Love’s heart beating on my back, but he doesn’t seem anywhere near as nervous as I am as he rumbles, “Who is it?”

“It’s Dr. Johansson. Do you have a moment?”

For God only knows what reason, Dr. Love is still holding me in place, rather than removing me from my seat on his cock. He’s like stone inside me, but it’s still there, and I’ll only be able to hold myself in this position for so long before I start to squirm.

“I do not,” Dr. Love replies to Johansson through the door. “I’ll come to your office later.”

“Actually, it’s rather important, sir.” Johansson keeps on like the annoying old fool he is. “It’ll just take a moment.”

Dr. Love curses under his breath, dropping his forehead onto my shoulder for a second. He whispers to me, “Do not fucking move.”

And then opens the door a crack.

“What is it, Johansson? I really don’t have time for this…”

I can’t see what’s happening without moving and I’m terrified to do so, because my body weight is sort of resting on the door. But Dr. Love is straight up speaking to Johansson through the crack, while just on the other side of it, three inches of his dick are buried in my ass.

What in the holy fuck is going on here…?!

I hold my breath to listen while Johansson says, “I’m sure you’ve heard about the lockdown Manuel has ordered.”

“Yea… so what?” Dr. Love barks, clearly grouchy from being interrupted. It’s not at all the time, but my toes are curling in my shoes.

“Well, I just thought you’d like to know I’ve spoken with him, and our arrangement stands with the experiments, regardless.”

“What in the fuck does a lockdown have to do with experiments?” Dr. Love growls. “And how is this important?”

Johansson is quiet for a moment, most likely withering under my doctor’s scathing glare.

“I believe we’re being scaled back,” Johansson stammers. “Abel may need to be repurposed or transferred…”

“That sounds like your problem,” Dr. Love grunts, then moves his hips an inch. I chomp down on my lip to keep my noises in. “Not mine.”

“True…” Johansson sounds suspicious. “Is everything alright, Doctor?”

“Mind your fucking business, Johansson,” Dr. Love’s voice is on the verge of erupting like a volcano of hatred, I can hear it.

“Sure. So sorry to bother you,” Johansson replies, then clears his throat. “We’ll need Mr. Darcey in the exam room in an hour if you’d like to join… There’s a machine I’ve been eager to use.”

Mention of my name sends a chill up my spine. Dr. Love’s hand tightens over my mouth.

“Machine?” he asks, much breathier than normal. You’d think this whole thing would be making his dick soft, but on the contrary. It’s throbbing inside me.

“Yes. We haven’t used it in quite some time, but I think it could be beneficial.” Johansson chirps.

“Fine. Whatever. I’ll see you then.” Dr. Love closes the door while Johansson is mumbling something.

It clicks shut, and he locks it, both of us remaining still until we hear Johansson’s footsteps wandering back where he came from.

Finally, Dr. Love removes his hand from my mouth, and I release a long breath.

“Jesus… that was crazy,” I whisper.

“Mmm…” He glides his hands down my hips, fingertips dancing on the flesh of my ass before he pulls his dick out.

“Wait.” My grunt turns into a whine of protest. “Don’t stop…”

“I have to,” he breathes, lifting my pants, then patting me on the ass. “That was too close.”

I flip around, leaning on the door to keep myself upright. “Well, you didn’t seem to care enough to pull the fuck out while you were chatting with him.”

He finishes tucking himself away, zipping up and fastening his belt while giving me an amused yet salacious once over. “You just feel too good… Don’t you?”

He steps up to me, trapping me against the door again, only this time we’re face to face. My chin tips and I blink up at him, mumbling, “I guess so.”

“You guess so.” He huffs, eyes shimmering while somehow hazy with the lust of what we’d been doing as he runs his index finger along my bottom lip. It might be the one that was inside me, but I can’t even think about that right now. Not while he’s looking at me the way he is. “What are you doing to me, wicked one?”

I’m literally breathless.

He brushes his lips over mine, and we breathe each other like oxygen. Exhale, inhale.

Inhale. Exhale.

“Don’t leave me with them,” I beg him quietly, my mouth moving against his. “Please.”

“You don’t need me to rescue you, Felix.” He sighs, holding my jaw before his fingers dance down my throat. “Now, let’s get you back. They’ll be waiting.”

Three inches…

Three. Fucking. Inches.

I’m still trying to process what happened in my office earlier. The fact that I stuffed three inches of my dick inside a man… A murderous psychopath of a man… is really just throwing me for a loop.

It was bad enough when I watched him jerk off. Or dared him to blow me.

Or made out with him while he stroked our dicks together.

All of those things combined would equal a life-altering freakout of epic proportions. But then I put three inches of my dick inside him. And truthfully, if Dr. Johansson hadn’t knocked on the door, I would have given him all of it. Every single bit until he was stuffed so full of me, there was no way to know where I ended and he began.

But the question I’m pondering as I stalk back and forth in this adjoining hallway, waiting for Johansson to come get me and let me know they’re starting, is how.

How on earth did I go from being a fully straight man, who would never even have considered interacting sexually with another man, to bouncing around in some form of gay purgatory with one of the most notorious serial killers of this generation?

Leaning my back against the wall, I close my eyes and imagine tits. And vagina.

I still like those things, right??

I think I do, but the problem is that the thought of anyone other than Felix is becoming so convoluted. He’s the only person I’ve been around… Or the only person I’ve been focused on. For weeks, all I’ve thought about is him. It must have somehow transferred into a lustful affection. An obsession, much like what he feels for his victims.

But how did it happen to me? I’m not someone who gets swept up in other people. In fact, I don’t think I’ve been swept up by anyone. Ever.

So why is it happening now, with this sociopath of all people??

I have to admit that despite how obviously deranged he is, he also happens to be the most fascinating human being I’ve ever had the pleasure of spending time with. And this must be the macabre hook in me, but the fact that he’s a killer doesn’t scare me. It doesn’t even disturb me. Not one bit. It actually just makes me like him more.

Does that make me a sociopath, too??

Either way, I don’t have time to keep frolicking around in a state of duress. Johansson is inviting me to observe their next test on Felix and he should be calling me in at any minute. I need to get my head in the game. Whatever happened between Felix and me in my office can wait.

Above all else, I’m a doctor and a researcher of the human condition. That is what’s most pertinent right now. Not three inches.

Only a moment later, Johansson pops his head through the door to the hallway I’m in and says, “We’re ready to get started.”

I follow him down the long corridor of examination rooms. He enters a different one than usual. And when I peek through the doorway, I find Claude the orderly removing Felix’s straitjacket and handing him a hospital gown.

Johansson is busy fiddling with some machine and a tray table of instruments. Claude pulls out a pair of cuffs, but I quickly hold my hand up to him. “Don’t cuff him.”

He gives me a look, then peeks at Johansson, who simply nods in agreement with my terms.

“Please get undressed and put this on, Mr. Darcey.”

Felix’s eyes are on me, the stormy gray glimmering with concern as he strips out of his clothes, handing everything off to Claude, who folds it all up and places it on the counter. Felix quickly squirms into the hospital gown, appearing tense, but also slightly comforted. And I think it’s because of my presence.

In the video footage I’ve seen of him being treated by the others, he always appears worried about what they’ll do to him. But when I’m here, I guess he thinks that I’ll protect him, and make sure they don’t go too far.

Will I?

It’s in my best interest to remain professional. To let Johansson attend to Felix in any way he sees fit. But also, the memory of Templeton fucking him with that dildo lives rent-free in my mind, and I can feel my blood pressure raising every time I’m reminded of it.

Claude helps Felix up onto a doctor’s slab, then leaves the room.

I glance after him. “No Templeton today?”

“I felt this experiment would work best with just us,” Johansson says. Then he powers on his machine. The thing looks pretty old. Like it was made in the seventies.

Squinting at it, I ask, “Is that a sonogram machine?”

“It is,” Johansson replies casually, then he states his usual introduction for the hidden cameras. Date, time, all of our names and Felix’s vitals. “This is a sonogram, with a few tweaks, of course. I’ve used it before on a patient here and garnered some interesting results.”

He picks up a long plastic strip with wires attached to it, like a large electrode.

“Felix, I’ll need you to lie back and lift your gown. I’m going to apply this to your abdomen.” Johansson says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Felix’s wide eyes shift to mine. And I just stare back at him, my thoughts stuck wondering why we’re about to do an ultrasound on Felix Darcey. It’s not like he shows any symptoms of diseases worth checking out.

Felix gulps, then lies back on the table, his legs dangling off the edge while he slowly lifts his gown. “What was the point of making me wear this if you’re going to be looking at my junk, anyway?” he mutters, annoyed.

“It’s for your comfort,” Johansson says, sticking the long plastic electrode strip to Felix’s lower abdomen, right beneath his belly button.

My throat is suddenly dry as a bone, and I’m actively trying not to look in Felix’s direction, because his dick is just lying there, soft yet still impressively sized. His ass is right there, too… The place I had the tip of my dick in earlier…

I swallow. Is it warm in here or am I just burning in Hell??

Johansson goes back to the machine, pressing a few buttons. And suddenly on the screen, there’s a bunch of swishy stuff.

“What is that?” Felix asks, gawking at the screen.

“That is an ultrasound view of your insides,” Johansson tells him. “These machines, as you may know, are typically used to monitor the early stages of pregnancy.” He picks up a long gray stick that’s shaped slightly like a penis. Wider at the top, then slimming down for the rest, roughly ten inches long. “However, they are used for more than that. This wand will detect movement and intrusions. It can help spot tumors, cancer, things like that in places like your liver, pancreas, kidneys, and so on.”

“Cancer??” Felix gasps, his wide eyes flinging in my direction. “Did he say cancer?!”

“Well, yes, but I don’t believe you have cancer,” Johansson says calmly. “That’s just one of its uses.”

“What exactly are we using it for today, then?” I ask with my head sort of spinning.

Johansson’s eyes fling to mine. “This is just research, Doctor.”

He snaps on a rubber glove. Felix’s Adam’s apple bobs visibly.

I’m becoming very tight and warm all over as Johansson squirts a generous helping of KY jelly onto the wand, moving over to Felix.

“Wait, you’re gonna put that inside me??” Felix croaks, then glares at me. “Can you do something?!”

My lips part, but I can’t seem to find any words. The doctor in me, who went to an accredited medical school, knows that he should speak up. And say this probably isn’t necessary.

But then the curious man inside me… The one who, only an hour ago, put his dick in the same place that thing is about to be stuffed inside, who can still feel the tight warmth on his awkwardly hardening cock, stays quiet. Fingers twitching, interest piqued.

“Felix, please spread your legs. Bend your knees and place your feet flat on the table.” Johansson comes at him with the wand, and Felix presses his thighs together.

“No… This is some weird ass shit. I’m not sick and I’m not a pregnant lady. I don’t need this.” He barks at me again, “You got anything to say here??”

I step closer, draping my hand on his leg. His thigh is muscular, with hair and stuff, since you know… he’s a guy. I’ve never touched a man’s leg before.

Felix’s lashes flutter up at my face.

“Cooperate please, Felix,” I speak quietly to him.

He sucks in a breath, letting it out slowly before he nods. Then he lifts his legs, placing his feet on the table and bending at the knees.

“Wider,” Johansson demands.

Resting my hands on Felix’s calves, I pry his legs apart farther. He’s visibly nervous, so I make sure to draw a small circle or two on his flesh with my thumbs. Just to calm him a bit… “It won’t be bad.”

“Are you kidding?” He huffs. “Look at the size of that thing.”

I lift my brow at him, saying without words, not the biggest thing you’ve had inside you today.

His cheeks flush, and he swallows.

Johansson isn’t picking up on whatever is happening between us. Either that or he doesn’t care. He simply stands by the edge of the table and presses the tip of the wand between Felix’s ass cheeks.

“Jesus fuck!” Felix whines. “It’s cold, asshole.”

Johansson ignores him. “Relax, please.”

My hand slides off of his leg and over to his hand, covering it with mine. He glances at me, lips trembling with his shaky breaths, chest moving up and down beneath the hospital gown, bunched up around his shoulders. His fingers slowly lace through mine and my stomach begins to twist.

Johansson gives the wand a shove and Felix grunts, squeezing my hand. I can’t stop watching his face, but I also find my eyes wandering down between his legs where the doctor’s gloved hand is easing the wand all the way inside him. Deep.

“Fucking… shit fuck,” Felix mumbles hoarsely, eyes closed, head tipped back.

The slope of his throat is… nice to look at.

“Doctor,” Johansson calls to me and I flinch out of my trance.

“Hm?”

“Are you familiar with the ultrasound data?” He lifts his brows at me, and I nod.

“Relatively,” I answer, noting the presence of the wand on the screen.

This is certainly different from any sonogram I’ve ever seen. You can see the wand inside Felix, plain as day.

It makes me wonder what else you’d be able to see… From inside him.

“That’s weird,” Felix murmurs, then squirms, still clutching my hand. I glance down at him. “Do you see anything… bad?”

I blink at him, attempting to reacquaint myself with the reality of the situation. “Uh…” I clear my throat, my eyes flitting to the screen. “No, you look healthy.”

Johansson moves the wand and Felix lets out a purr that throbs me in the balls. Against my will, my wide gaze moves over to his dick, which is growing harder by the second.

“You like the feeling…” I rumble down to him. Our eyes connect and the blush in his cheeks gives me another twitch below my waist.

His tongue slides over his bottom lip, then he tugs it between his teeth.

“Leave us, Doctor,” I bark suddenly at Johansson.

He pauses in confusion before stuttering, “I’m not sure that I—”

“Now.” I aim a glare at him that says you have three seconds to get out of this room before I eject you myself.

He still lingers for a few seconds, pissing me the fuck off with his inability to follow instructions, his eyes falling to Felix and my joined hands. I rip mine away and fold my arms over my chest.

Johansson says nothing. He simply sighs out loud and lets go of the wand, leaving it inside Felix as he removes his rubber gloves and leaves the room, closing the door with a thunk behind him.

A chill of excitement rushes through me, and I just don’t fucking get it. I don’t understand why I’m desperate to be alone with this man, especially when he’s naked and in some kind of compromising position. It thrills me, deep in my marrow, and I can’t fathom why.

But then, right now is not the time when I want to be assessing my thought processes. Because Felix has his legs spread, and there’s something sticking out of his ass that’s making his dick hard. That’s where my attention is right now, whether I understand it or not.

Moving up to the table by his feet, I take hold of the wand. It barely moves, but Felix squeaks. I stare down at him, watching his chest flutter with unsteady breaths while he chews on his plump bottom lip.

“You see this?” I nod toward the screen.

Felix squirms.

“You see this object inside you…” I murmur, pulling it back a bit, then stuffing it in again, thrusting the wand in and out of him leisurely while he hums and trembles.

“Yes.” He gulps, eyes flicking to the screen. “It’s really… up there.”

“Mmm… it is.” I watch the screen while pumping the object in and out of him, seeing it move up and down. “I like being able to see what’s happening inside you. I like… watching your insides.”

“That sounds so creepy,” Felix mumbles, like the sassy thing he is, though his eyes are drooping, and he’s becoming visibly sweaty around the temples.

“I wonder if I can find your prostate with this…” I croon, moving it around a bit. I can see something that I think would be his prostate gland based on the location.

When I graze it with the wand, Felix’s toes curl and he groans, precum leaking from his dick onto his abs. “Fffuck.”

I lean over him. “Ooh, I think that’s it. What do you think?”

I brush the spot again and he shivers visibly from head to toe, back arching off the table. “Oh God, yes… that’s… so good.”

My heart is slamming behind my ribs, dick rock solid and jammed uncomfortably inside my pants. I need to free this thing… I need to…

I pull the wand out of Felix and he gasps, then whines, “W-why’d you do that??”

“I want to see what it looks like with something else inside you.” I toss the wand onto the tray table and begin unbuckling my belt, unzipping while Felix watches me with a hooded gaze and moist lips, shivering in anticipation.

Shoving my pants down quick, panting, out of my mind with need, I pull my aching cock out and stroke it a few times. My eyes bounce up to the ceilings, knowing there are hidden cameras in here recording me, but I just can’t help myself. I can’t not do this.

We were interrupted earlier, and it took everything I had in me to stop. I don’t possess that kind of willpower anymore.

No more toys, or medical tools inside of him. He’s my patient. If anything is going to reach inside him in the name of goddamn research, it’s going to be me.

Grabbing the tube of KY in my shaky fingers, I squeeze some out, smoothing it onto the inches of my eager erection. God, I haven’t fucked in months, and I need this. Being stopped earlier gave me a painful ache in my loins, likely blue balls. And now I’m pulsing with the desire to stuff my cock inside that tight channel of his.

Hovering over Felix, I grab his thigh in my left hand and my dick in my right, pressing it up to him. And this time, he isn’t hesitant or nervous. He’s spreading his legs wide for me, quaking with the obvious desire to be filled.

By me, and me alone.

I refuse to admit it, but I love the fact that I’m the first real dick to fuck him. It’s like I’m taking his virginity, which has always been a dark fantasy of mine. Except that it used to be with women… But whatever. Here we are.

“I’ve been craving your cock in me for so long,” Felix whimpers while I swirl my head around on his hot hole.

My fingers dig into his flesh. “Is that right? Sick little monster wants a dick deep in his ass…”

I give him a push, and he mewls. “Fuck, yes. Yours. Only… yours.” His words go raspy as I shove deeper.

Glancing at the screen, I see my cock enter the screen. I can see my dick pushing inside him. Holy fuck, that’s insane.

“Watch the screen, Felix,” I growl a command at him.

He forces his eyes open and turns his head while I drive all the way inside, feeding him inches until my pelvis is on his cheeks.

Balls fucking deep.

He whimpers at the sight. “Oh God, that looks insane… Your whole dick is in me.”

“Yea…”

We’re both just gazing at the screen, me between his thighs, arms on either side of his hips. I draw back just a bit, then thrust in again and he releases a jagged sob. He fits me like a sheath, and it’s fucking incredible.

“You know what it looks like?” I ask, turning my face to his.

“What’s that?” he breathes with my mouth hovering over his.

“It looks like I own you, sick boy.” My lips brush his and he quivers. “You’re my monster.”

Felix groans and leans back, arching up to me. “I am. I’m yours, Doctor.”

Fuck, why does that sound so damn good??

Finally, I begin to move my hips at a gradual pace, riding him slow yet deep. As deep as humanly possible, sliding back, then feeding my cock into his ass, watching the screen as the shape moves in and out of him. It looks unlike anything I could ever imagine witnessing.

Fucking someone is one thing; knowing you’re inside them, claiming their body as yours. But being able to see it in front of your face; to watch my dick moving within the rings of muscle in his ass is a totally different experience.

“Fuck, Felix,” I whisper, dropping my forehead onto his, my hands running up his chest. “You feel so warm and slippery wet. Your ass is too tight, cradling my big cock.”

“Your dick is so big, Doctor,” he purrs, wrapping his legs around my hips, clinging to me. “God, you’re tearing me apart.”

“Good,” I growl, then bite his bottom lip until he cries in my mouth. “I want to fucking wreck you.”

“Mmm… destroy my ass. Please.” His hands are all over me, running up my shirt, ripping at it, clutching it in his fists.

“You’re not so scary, psycho killer.” I trail my mouth down his throat while my hips buck into him. “You’re just a needy little slut, aren’t you?”

He moans, cupping my pectorals and squeezing. “Yours. Your slut.”

A groan leaves me, and I peek at the screen, looking for his prostate. I push my cock into it, and he arches off the table. “Is that your good spot, baby?”

He cries, “Yesss. Please, please… more.”

I’m fucking him wild, feral in my movements as my eyes flick between the screen and him. I lash at his prostate with my cock, gazing hungrily at his perfect dick while it pulses out spurts of precum for me.

“You’re a sticky mess, sick boy,” I growl. “Clean that up.”

He reaches down and swipes at the cum with his fingers, stuffing them into his mouth. “Kiss me… please, Dr. Love.” His long, dark lashes flutter over a lust-drunk expression. “I’m begging for your lips.”

“You begging me, baby…” I tease him by letting my mouth dance over his.

He grabs me by the dreads. “I’m fucking desperate for you.”

“I know you are.” Pound pound pound. My thrusts grow harder, pace picking up until the smacking sound of my hips on him is ringing through the room. “You want me so bad, huh, you little slut monster?”

“I… want… fuck, I want you. Ruin me for anyone else.”

With a roar, I drop my lips onto his and kiss him until we’re both breathless and growling into each other’s greedy mouths.

“What the fuck is with you…?” I hum, sucking, bruising his lips and licking his tongue. “How do you make me want you like this?? It makes no sense.”

“Nothing addicting ever makes sense,” he breathes, legs wrapped around me, ankles locked on my lower back, hands in my hair, gripping my shirt. “Just fucking fuck me so good, Doctor.”

“Take this dick good, my sweet little psycho.”

The sounds we’re making are obscene. The slapping and slurping, the roars and grunts. It’s the animalistic music of two men fucking, and I never in a million years thought I would like it, but this music we make together has my balls drawing up so tight, I might bust any second.

“Fuuck, I wanna watch you come in me on the ultrasound,” Felix moans, finally getting my shirt open so he can touch all the surfaces of my chest and abs.

“You want me to come deep inside your greedy ass, baby?” My head is spinning.

“Yes. Yes, yes, please. Pour your hot cum in me, Doctor.”

I grasp his jaw hard, forcing him to look at me. “Your mouth is filthy.”

“You love it.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s right… fuck… me.”

We’re sweating into each other and I can feel Felix’s cock, stretched so hard the veins are popping all over his thick shaft, rubbing on my abs while I fuck him rough and deep, wearing him like an item of clothing I never thought I’d try on. But now that I’m in him… He fits me so fucking well.

“Come for me, Felix,” I command him, biting and sucking on his lips, kissing him so deep my tongue is damn near gliding down his throat.

“Pound me… right there… yes!” His eyes roll back in his skull while I fuck him so hard I can barely breathe. “Oh God, I’m coming.”

I grip him by the throat just as his dick is bursting, spraying his orgasm all over both of us. The sight of it, and knowing I did this to him with my dick in his ass, shoves me right over the edge.

And I’m tumbling, deep. Into the abyss.

A strangled noise escapes me, my entire body breaking out in a sweet shiver as I erupt and my orgasm begins to flow. Felix and I force our tired gazes toward the ultrasound to watch, and you can see it. My dick pulsing cum into his body.

“Fucking fuck, that looks so good,” I whimper to him, hoarse and still stroking. His ass clenches on my shaft, like it’s trying to keep me for as long as possible.

“Fill me up,” he croaks. “All the fucking way.”

“Fuck yes, you’re overflowing with me, baby. Look at all that cum inside you. Good boy.”

Felix is trembling, struggling to breathe while his needy fingers caress my chest, then my arms, then my hands. His touch is so affectionate, it leaves searing warmth in its wake.

When gravity returns to the room, and we’re done floating around like astronauts in space, our breathing is all to be heard. Hot, sticky bodies pressed together, my dick slowly softening in his ass.

Best… sex… of… ever.

I barely even notice that I’m nuzzling my face in the crook of his neck, smelling him. The scent of us, and sex, and us having sex with each other is all around, and I don’t understand it, but it’s dazzling some strange part of me I never knew existed.

I pull back and stare down at him. He blinks up at me from behind his glasses, the gray in his eyes like overcast skies. It reminds me of how fucking uncertain this whole thing is.

Me, the psychiatrist, fucking a serial killer. And loving it.

Tugging my cock out of him slowly, I can’t help but gaze, confounded, at his ass while my cum drips out. I lick my lips, then peek at Felix, who’s staring at me, dazed himself.

I take a step back and he clears his throat.

“I don’t understand…” I mumble, mostly to myself. Maybe a little to him.

I’m befuddled. Bewildered. Confused as fuck.

“I told you, maybe you don’t need to understand.” He props himself up on shaky arms.

“Okay, well, you clearly don’t know me at all.” I scoff. “I’m a doctor. A psychiatrist… A psychological researcher. Answers are all I’ve got. I damn well need to fucking understand.”

“We get it, Doctor Robot, you’re smarter than the average bear.” He rolls his eyes. “But I’m just saying, if you keep searching for answers in something like this, you’ll just drive yourself nuts.”

“Oh yea? And what makes you the expert?”

He gives me a look. “I think I know a little more about chemistry than you.”

I snort a laugh and shake my head. “Right.”

“I’m serious. You went on and on about how I’d never felt real sexual gratification, and I think you were right. But I’m willing to bet money you’ve never felt true chemistry with anyone you’ve dated.”

I stare blankly at him, swallowing over my dry throat. He rips the gown off, using it to wipe the cum off of himself. He’s sitting there on this table, naked and… beautiful. I don’t understand how a man can look so fucking gorgeous to me, but it’s making my head hurt and my stomach flip.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” He hops off the table and wanders over to get his clothes.

I watch him move, his tall frame, long limbs, graceful in their swinging. The curves and sinews of taut muscle that make him up. Pale complexion, decorated in the occasional bruise from this fucking place. But they look good.

I think I’d like to make some bruises on him myself. Just light ones, like from my mouth or my teeth, or my fingers.

My breathing is suddenly shallow, but my heart is racing.

“You’re not the one examining me,” I grunt at him while he dresses, peeking at me over his shoulder. “I’m the doctor, and you’re the patient. And you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He finishes and glides over to me, running his fingers inside my dress shirt that’s hanging open. I grab his wrist and he gasps, biting his lip. “Keep telling yourself that… Doc.”

There are so many urges flowing through my veins, I don’t even know what to do with myself. All I know is that being near him fucks with my system. He’s like a virus, and the only way I’ll get rid of him is to get some distance and some perspective.

Unfortunately for me, even if I wanted to do that, which I don’t, it’s not an option.

Though after Manuel Blanco sees this footage, it might be the last straw. He might just fire me.

Or kill me.

I can’t even think anymore. I’m so distracted, so confused and exhausted and tormented by my state of affairs, I end up just dragging Felix up the hall and tossing him inside his cell. When I slam the door shut, I see him watching me through that tiny window. Locked away in a cage like the rabid animal he is.

He can’t be right, can he?

Is there a chemistry so strong it doesn’t care who you are or what you’re used to, and it’ll force feelings on you for the most unlikely of recipients? And if so, how would I combat something like that?

Moreover, does Felix Darcey really care for me, or is this whole thing just a symptom of his endless need for affection and his blatant daddy issues?

Or worse… is it just because he’s trapped?

Back at the mansion, I get into the shower and stand beneath the water spray for an hour, just thinking. Considering the brainwashing I may have embarked on with my patient, the killer…

And how beneficial it is… Or isn’t.

The wind whistles through the trees.

Dusk has settled, and the forest is quiet.

The only sounds are those occasional rustles and snaps. Animals moving about.

Monsters stalking their prey.

I’m walking, but I don’t feel it. I’m gliding, my legs moving on their own, weaving around snapped trees and broken branches.

And that’s when I see him.

The fox. The one I found when I was a child.

I’m not sure how I know it’s the same fox, but I can just tell. I feel it inside. It’s my fox.

But he’s alive.

My heart races with elation as I step closer to him. He looks up from what he’s doing, his deep golden eyes locking on mine. Their color is familiar…

I notice that he’s been eating something. There’s blood on his mouth, flesh between his teeth.

He was chewing on a rabbit.

I drop down to my knees in the leaves and pine needles, and I dig my fingers into the bloody carcass of the dead animal. I bend to eat its organs, smearing blood on my lips as I rip and tear through its parts.

The fox is gone.

I am the fox.

The snap of a twig causes my head to spring in its direction. It’s me.

I see myself, walking over gradually, carefully. It’s me, but it doesn’t look like me.

He’s taller, and darker. A large, dominating presence. Quiet like me, but so much more confident. He’s The Carver. Not me.

He bends down and takes my chin between his fingers. His face is different.

It’s Dr. Love.

He kisses me softly, and when he pulls back, he has blood on his mouth, too. And then he pulls out a sharp blade and slashes my throat.

I feel no pain.

He crawls on top of me and licks at my wound, sucking and kissing the blood away from where it oozes out of the gash in my throat. He eats my flesh…

He’s the fox now, too.

My eyes flutter open suddenly, adjusting to the darkness. Only a dim stream of light comes from the small window in my cell door. I rub my eyes, rolling onto my back. My hip is stiff from sleeping on it on the floor, my head spinning me dizzy with the flickering images.

The fox, the blood… Dr. Love.

A throbbing between my legs draws my attention to the fact that I’m hard. I let out a soft hum. Wow, what a dream…

I shoot up into a sitting position.

A dream. I had a dream!

“Holy shit,” I gasp through an astonished chuckle. Pressure builds behind my eyes as I bite my lip.

I can’t believe I finally had a dream again. I was sure they were gone forever.

Flopping backward, I gaze up at the ceiling, excitement fizzling through me. My dreams are back. And I think I know why…

I haven’t seen Dr. Love in days. It’s hard to figure out time passing in this place, what with the lack of a schedule and awareness of what’s happening outside these walls. But based on my calculations, I’m venturing into day three of no doctor.

After we watched me losing my butt virginity to him via an ultrasound—one of the strangest, yet hottest experiences of my entire life—he vanished, and I haven’t heard a peep from him since. I could have figured he’d freak out a little. He’s rather skittish regarding his homosexual tendencies.

But still… The way time drags in this place… Each ticking second feels like an eternity without him. He’s become a light in the darkness for me here. The only thing that gives me even the slightest glimmer of hope in this life sentence.

And now I seem to have lost him.

I don’t want to give him all the credit, but I just know Dr. Love is the one responsible for my dreams coming back. It’s all him… His grumbly, mercurial behaviors, mixed with the unexpected affection. He’s actually… sweet. And it’s so baffling to me, it’s jacked my crush up into a full-blown obsession.

He’s all I think about anymore. I eat, sleep, and breathe Dr. Lemuel Love.

But he’s disappeared on me.

Because that’s what they do. They all leave.

They will always leave you, Felix.

The thrill I was feeling about my dreams coming back shrivels up in my state of depression and I lie still, staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours. My back is stiff, and while I would never want to return to solitary, I really miss sleeping in a bed, even that shoddy old cot they had me on.

When I close my eyes, my memories take over and I remember the feeling of him inside me…

The overwhelming burn of pleasure, his body taking control of mine. Nothing has ever felt so good. And while I can’t believe I’ve spent my entire sexual awakening as a top when I could have been bottoming—feeling the salacious ecstasy of doing something you’re not supposed to—I also sort of love that my first time was with Dr. Love.

I don’t think anyone else could ever even come close to what he does to my body. When he’s near me, it feels like our souls are intertwined; like a swirling combination of want and need so powerful it could spontaneously combust.

He said I’d never felt true sexual satisfaction… And then he gave it to me.

“Typical,” I scoff at the ceiling.

“Talking to yourself?” a familiar deep voice rumbles from just outside my cell and my eyes shoot open. “Why am I not surprised?”

My heart jumps in my chest as I sit up slowly, forcing away the smitten smile at seeing his face again. I fucking missed him. Hard.

“Because I’m a murderer,” I reply snarkily.

His lips quirk, but he smothers it, arching a brow. “You up for another experiment?”

This time, the grin is too persistent.

I couldn’t stop it if I tried.

“This is crazy.”

“And that pleases you?”

“Duh.”

“Felix… Keep up.”

“Sorry.” I scurry along by his side, breathing steadily while we walk through the trees, leaves crunching beneath our feet. My fingers on my left hand thread through the fingers on his right. He glances down at me with a scolding sort of look. “I just think it might help… if we were holding hands.”

“Mhm,” he grunts, seeing right through my ploy, though there’s amusement in his eyes.

It’s true, though. It would make things easier, since our wrists are already cuffed together while we trudge through the woods, toward the elusive Ivory Mansion. That’s the experiment.

Dr. Love showed up at my cell roughly ten minutes ago with very few words. He simply opened the door, snapped a handcuff to his wrist, and the other to mine, then he began dragging me through the halls of the East Wing toward an exit door. And then he brought me outside.

When I asked where we were going, he said, “I’m bringing you to the mansion with me.”

And when I asked why, he said, “Field trip.”

That’s all I got, but believe me, it’s more than enough.

He’s bringing me home with him. I can’t even fathom it… But I’m beginning to realize that this man does the opposite of what you think he’s going to do. He’s very confusing, and call me crazy, but I’m sort of obsessed with it.

Dr. Love is holding a flashlight, using it to light our way, since it’s pitch black out here, and the only nearby lights are coming from the prison, which we’re headed away from. We’ve only been walking for a few minutes, but I can already see the mansion in the distance. The endorphins floating through my system at just being outside for the first time in like six months are enough to have me bouncing around on cloud nine.

But then also knowing that I get to go inside the mansion we’ve all heard about, but have never actually seen with our own eyes… And I’m being brought in by my sexy doctor boyfriend?

I don’t think I’ve ever been so overjoyed.

Okay, boyfriend is probably a stretch, Felix. He’s just a doctor who’s been studying you, who occasionally likes to kiss and fuck you. It doesn’t mean you’re getting married. Manage your expectations.

“Your fingers are wiggling,” Dr. Love rumbles.

“And my hands are sweaty,” I sigh. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just so excited to be outside again. This little patch of woods is…” I pause to look around, sucking in a long inhale of ocean air. Glancing up at the dark sky, I spot a few stars twinkling between the trees, and hum, “Breathtaking.”

He stops walking, which in turn stops me, since we’re handcuffed together. I peek at him, gulping instinctively at his dark, domineering presence, amber eyes alit with something mischievous and sexy and sort of scary. It turns me the fuck on.

“Come,” he demands softly, yanking me to him by our cuffed wrists.

I stumble into him and he grabs me by the throat, gripping it gently yet rough enough to cut off just a little oxygen. Our eyes meld together, and I wish like hell I could hear what he’s thinking. He’s such a mystery to me.

The only thing I know in this moment is that this is new, for both of us.

“If you weren’t cuffed right now… what would you do?” he asks softly, the severity in his gaze giving me chills.

“I would still be standing right here,” I murmur truthfully. “I just… I want to be near you.”

Something flashes over his face, his forehead lining for just a moment. I witness his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat before he pulls a key out of his pocket.

“I have an idea.” He unlocks the cuffs, dropping them onto the forest floor.

Then he turns and walks away.

“Wait…” I mumble, following after him. “Where are you going??”

He peers at me over his shoulder, giving me a knowing sort of look, but doesn’t say a word. Just continues walking. I stop for a second.

He wants me to… follow him?

No. He wants me to chase him.

A chill of excitement rushes through me. I haven’t stalked in so long… I’m not sure if I’ll even remember how.

Slinking around a tree, I watch him stomping along the beaten path. I observe him while tiptoeing as quietly as possible to the next tree, keeping myself hidden. And it comes back to me, like muscle memory.

Keeping my steps light, I follow him. Holding my breath to stay silent. The way my pulse pumps steadily, in control, enlivens me. The adrenaline working up my zeal, while also keeping me in line.

I allow Dr. Love to stay about twenty feet ahead of me while I trail him, loving the shit out of this game so much my fingers are twitching. He’s really acting like I’m not here, and it’s making my dick so hard, I have to flip it up into the waistband of my pants.

We reach this old crumbling rock wall and Dr. Love walks toward it, taking a couple of small steps inside an alcove that gives me creepy Secret Garden vibes, especially at night. I’m obsessed with it.

I would live out here if I could.

There are plants everywhere, some alive, some dead. But even amongst the ruin of whatever this is, there are spots of vibrant color. Early summer sprinkles brightening up the gloom. A patch of yellow Dahlias catches my eye, and I have to remind myself I’m supposed to be stalking, not stopping to smell the flowers.

We pass a large building that looks like a house of some kind. And then we approach a sort of greenhouse structure, and to my surprise, Dr. Love opens the door and walks inside. Of course I follow him.

There are even more interesting flowers in here. The smell is fantastic. A heady combination of ocean and floral, herbs and wet soil. I’m in heaven. I never thought I would get to smell the outdoors again, and here I am with my favorite fragrance filling my nostrils. Not to mention that I’m close enough to Dr. Love to smell him, and his scent is just the most delicious thing ever, especially when mixed with the woodsy aroma.

I’m so distracted that I don’t even notice he’s dipped in a different direction. I seem to have lost him, my head flinging left and right as I look around frantically. Dammit.

Wandering carefully in between the rows of plants and flowers, shrubberies and small trees, I check for any sign of him. I listen closely, but it’s completely silent. The only thing I can hear is my heartbeat rapping inside me.

Suddenly, I’m ripped left by a firm grip on my wrist.

Dr. Love shoves me up against a beam in between a bunch of flowers. Petals flutter around us while I breathe a gasp of surprise. He presses himself into me, his lips going to my ear.

“And you’re supposed to be the dangerous one?” His large body traps me, draping me in his warmth. “I’m not impressed.”

My head tips back as I give him my throat and he takes the bait, running his mouth over my Adam’s apple while it bobs. “I’m sure I could remedy that…”

“Sounds fun.” I feel a ghost of a grin on my shivering flesh. “But we should get inside. I can’t have anyone finding us out here.”

I whine, and he hums, pulling himself off of me reluctantly. But this time, he takes my hand.

He tugs me along, out of the greenhouse and onto a stone patio with a grill, some canopy furniture and twinkly lights strung up overhead.

I can’t even help how I’m just gaping around myself in awe. “This is beautiful. I can’t believe something so gorgeous exists on this island…”

“Mm…” Dr. Love’s voice rumbles and he peeks at me for a moment.

But he says nothing else, just keeps dragging me along until we reach a backdoor of the mansion. I kind of want to see this place from the front, but even from back here, it’s massive. All white marble, an elaborate castle nestled in the middle of a forbidden forest. Such an incredible place…

And I’m even more stunned when we walk inside.

The interior is dimly lit and ominous, yet magnificently designed. And it gives new meaning to the word huge. The ceilings are so high, I feel like an ant. Everything is spotlessly clean, cold and decorated like we’re in Transylvania.

My head is bobbing back and forth in amazement while Dr. Love keeps pulling me swiftly, through the downstairs. Once we reach what looks like the main foyer, I see two distinct staircases. Long ones that wind up like we’re in some kind of museum. He brings me to one side and we walk up the stairs, quickly and quietly. He’s basically running with me in tow, and I assume it’s because if anyone were to see us, he’d be in big trouble. Though at this point, it seems like he just does whatever he wants.

I mean, if he didn’t get in trouble for giving me the keys, then what difference does it make if he sneaks me out of the prison and into the Warden’s home?

I swallow hard. I really can’t believe this is happening right now.

I’m sure The Ivory will find out about this. He has eyes everywhere; always watching. There’s no way this little experiment will go unnoticed. But I guess it’s just a matter of how long we can get away with it until he reacts.

Either way, I don’t care. I’m stuck in that prison for the rest of my life, regardless. Might as well make the best of it by fucking up as much shit before they eventually kill me.

We stop ascending the stairs at the second level, and Dr. Love brings me up a dark corridor to a closed door. He opens it, then motions for me to enter first. Stepping inside, I’m immediately spinning in circles again. It’s a massive bedroom, and I mean enormous. Probably the size of my entire apartment back in Brooklyn. There’s a window which overlooks the ocean, drawn black curtains and lamps illuminating a soft glow. A large bed in the center of the room with some of the fanciest bedding I’ve ever seen. All the furniture looks to be made from rich mahogany and oak. It’s all obviously super expensive.

Dr. Love locks the door while I wander around, poking at things. There are paintings on the wall that catch my attention. All black and blood red to match the vibe. A fireplace. An attached en suite bathroom. Scampering over to it, I peek inside. It’s also giant, with a huge shower enclosure and separate clawfoot tub.

When I twirl back around, I find Dr. Love staring at me.

“This place is insane,” I whisper. “This is your room?” He nods slowly. “And you wanted to bring me here… as an experiment?” I ask, leaning against the wooden doorframe. He nods again. “You want to see what the monster does when he’s set free from his cage and plopped into a luxurious setting…”

“Not necessarily.” He finally speaks, standing only a few feet from me, his presence overpowering the room.

“Then what?” My head cocks.

He takes a step closer. “Something has been happening between us, Felix.” His tone is vastly mischievous. My flesh sheets with chills. “I’ve tried to ignore it… stuff it away, force it down. Focus on my job. But you are my job. And I think…” He trails off for a moment before continuing. “I rather enjoy focusing on you.” He steps even closer, until I can feel his voice when he speaks. “I want to see how this feels… when you’re not a prisoner.”

My entire body is trembling. His words have burrowed their way into my skin, through the muscle and tissue, and carved out a spot in my chest. Right next to my heart.

He wants to see how it feels… To be with me.

“I’m still a monster,” I whisper. “That doesn’t change with the location.”

He nods once more. “I know.”

My lashes flutter. “You like it… don’t you?”

His jaw tenses, as if he’s attempting to fight it. But he can’t. Because we both know it’s the truth.

“And you like that I’m not afraid of you,” he rumbles, placing his hands on my chest, running them up my neck.

This time I nod. “I love how you look at me. How you watch me.” My voice is breathy with need.

His thumbs graze my jaw, large hands holding me in place while his mouth lowers over mine. “You’re such a fascinating specimen, Felix Darcey. A lifetime of learning from you would barely scratch the surface.”

A whimper leaves my lips right before he covers them with his, kissing me into a slow stupor, hypnotizing me with his mouth. I’m frenzied with lust, and the feeling of being free. No cuffs, no straitjacket. Standing in a room that isn’t a cell or a dank locker room, or his office. We’re not even in the prison right now.

We’re in his bedroom. And he’s kissing me.

My fingers twitch and I become so jittery, I have to remind myself to slow down. To savor it.

Dr. Love reaches for my glasses, but I stop him with my hands on his wrists, shooting him a nervous look.

“Do you trust me?” He gazes down at me, swirling intense amber pleading with me.

I nod slowly. “Yes.”

He removes my glasses, carefully placing them down on a side table. I can’t help but gulp at the anxiety bounding through me from the blur in my vision.

But he takes my face in his hands once more. “I could swallow you whole, Felix. I don’t want anything in the way.”

I barely have time to swoon before his mouth is on mine again, more insistent this time. He spins me and backs me up while sucking furiously at my lips, pushing his tongue into my mouth with a hum.

“God fucking dammit, you taste amazing,” he mumbles into my mouth and my dick throbs. “I’ve never tasted anything like you.”

“It’s the flavor of evil,” I pant, running my eager fingers up his chest.

“It’s delicious,” he sighs with wonder in his tone.

Then he shoves me backward onto the bed.

He wastes no time crawling over me and lifting my shirt over my head. We kick our shoes and socks off, then I use my shaky fingers to unbutton his shirt, and he shrugs it off his broad shoulders. I hate that my vision isn’t clear enough to make out all of his tattoos, but I can vaguely see them. They cover his torso and arms. Everywhere. The deep blue weaving all over his brown skin. My balls hum with the desire to explore every inch of him. And let him into every crevice of me.

“Why did you disappear on me?” I ask while helping him remove his belt and his pants, both of us breathing heavily, amorous thirst moving between us like a current.

“You don’t understand, Felix,” he rumbles, pushing my pants and boxers down, ripping them off me until I’m naked and squirming on the silky fabric of his bedding. “This is hard for me. I’ve never… been with a man. I’ve never looked at a man at all…”

“Until me,” I whisper.

“Until you,” he says softly, slithering out of his pants the rest of the way.

We’re both naked now, and this is… intense. My heart is hammering in my chest at the sheer fact that he’s naked with me. I’ve never seen him naked before, and now we’re in an actual bed, touching and kissing, warm flesh zipped together.

“I want to see you better,” I whine hoarsely while his lips dance down my jaw.

“All you need to do is feel this, baby,” he commands, his erection brushing mine.

We both groan at the sensation, and he rears back, his cock thick and full, heavy between his legs as it runs along mine with a flick of his hips.

“I can’t believe how amazing it feels…” he breathes, fingers gliding up my arms while his mouth presses slow, soft kisses down my throat. He bites my clavicle and I gasp, peeking down at him. “I’m not gay, Felix.”

“Okay…” I purr when his lips cover my nipple and he sucks. “Mmm… you can pretend I’m a girl if you want. Anything to make sure this never stops.”

He chuckles, one of his low, growly little sounds that breeds butterflies in my esophagus.

“Girls don’t have this.” He grasps my dick in his fist and strokes it slowly.

“Well, if you’re not gay, then why are you touching it?” I tease, biting my lip while I watch him licking my nipples and stroking my cock.

“I think it likes being touched,” he hums, squeezing my dick tight as his fist pumps up and down at a leisurely pace.

“It definitely does… Especially by straight robot doctors.”

He huffs another chuckle on my nipple while sucking it and I’m over the fucking moon.

His amber eyes slide up to mine. “Does it like being… kissed?”

My dick literally throbs in his hand, precum pulsing out at the mere mention of him putting his mouth anywhere near it.

I swallow, reminding myself to play it cool. “I think it would love that…”

“Yea?” He moves down lower, trailing his lips along the lines of my abs.

“Yea…”

His tongue peeks out and I’m shivering. “Your body is immaculate.” He bites the V muscles in my pelvis.

“Nowhere near as huge as yours.” My eyelids droop as his mouth moves down my hips.

“Bigger than anyone I’ve ever fooled around with.” There’s awe in his tone while he kisses my inner thighs.

“I guess that’s true.” We lock eyes. Then his lips brush over my balls. “Fuck…”

“You like that?” He’s sincerely asking. I nod and his mouth moves up, lips grazing along my shaft. “How about this…”

“God, you’re killing me.” I fist the comforter.

“You’ll have to tell me what to do…” he murmurs, staring at my dick like it’s a mathematical equation he’s working on. His eyes spring to mine. “I want to make you feel more than just good.”

“Mm… You want to show me euphoria with your mouth, like I did to you?” My lips twist in amusement. His eyes glisten and he nods. My fingers dance along his broad shoulders. “I promise, you’ll get me there no matter what you do.”

His brows lift in a silent question. Like this? I nod and bite my lip.

And he extends his tongue, swiping it along the underside of my crown.

My head falls back on the bed. “Fuck yea…” He does it again, and I groan.

“Felix likes this…” he whispers, as if he’s talking to himself, his lips moving on my aching flesh.

“You’ll be the death of me.” I peek down at him. “Give me more of that virgin mouth. Please.”

His dark lashes flutter almost nervously, and it has my balls tingling as he drops his parted lips over my head, sucking on it like a lollipop. My hands fly up into his dreads on instinct.

He sucks harder, taking just a little more, his eyes coming up to mine for some verification. I’m going to fucking burst already… This massive, gorgeous, confident as hell straight doctor is anxiously trying to please me with his first blowjob.

I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.

“Oh, shit… Doctor…” I ramble breathlessly while he sucks up and down on the first few inches of my dick, building himself up a nice little rhythm.

He moans on my cock, then pulls off. “My mouth is watering…”

“Good. Use it,” I tell him, cupping his jaw while he pants. “Make it sloppy.”

“Sick little monster wants his big cock sucked?” He lifts a brow before sliding me back in, taking me even deeper.

My eyes roll back into my skull as I yank his dreads in my fist. “You’re so fucking good…”

He really rumbles a lot, moaning on my dick and giving me all the best vibrations until I’m crumbling. His mouth moves slowly, taking me deeper and deeper, worshiping my cock with his warmth while getting himself used to it. He looks like a fucking dream come true with those puffy lips wrapped around my cock. The contrast of my light to his dark is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And the way his eyes stay with mine as he holds my hips, digging his fingertips in, surely leaving imprint bruises. He seems determined not to use his hands, which is fucking glorious.

His saliva is dribbling down to my balls as he takes more and more, finally allowing the tip to touch the back of his throat. He gags and then groans, dropping his forehead onto my abs, as if he liked it.

He slides off to breathe. “You’re so long, Felix.” His eyes find mine. “How am I supposed to get your balls to my lips?”

A lazy grin forms on my mouth. “Is that what you want? My balls on your lips?”

He nods, almost innocently, and it’s so fucking cute and sexy I melt everywhere.

“Practice, baby.” My finger traces the seam of his lips.

He sticks his tongue out to lick it. “Do I look like your baby, Felix?” He’s trying to put up a tough front, but I can see that he’s thrilled at me calling him that.

“Yea.” I tug his chin. “Actually, you do.”

“Why? Just because I’m sucking your dick?” His mouth quirks, and he licks up my shaft, pressing kisses on it.

“Mmm… yea. I’m the first dick ever to enter your mouth. As far as I’m concerned, you’re mine now, Doctor.”

I shift my hips, and he growls, grabbing my cock and stuffing it back into his mouth. After that, he goes to town on me, sucking and sucking and sucking until I’m dizzy and sweating. My orgasm is coming up quick, and when he lets me slide into the back of his throat again, this time without gagging, I’m coming apart at the seams.

“If you don’t want to drink it, I’d stop,” I tell him, twirling one of his dreadlocks around my finger.

He glances up at me with devilry in his amber eyes. But he doesn’t stop. Instead, he just keeps working on me, pumping my cock with his mouth, over and over, up and down and up and down. He fondles my nuts gently with his fingers, then glides them over my taint. I groan, spreading my legs wider while he traces my rim, sucking me with punishing strength until I’m ready to burst.

“Dr. Love… Dr… Want…”

The climax crests, and my dick explodes, pouring streams of cum into his mouth. He sucks on my cock while I’m coming, his throat adjusting to swallow it all, eyelids drooping shut as he does.

I think he likes it… I think he really loves the taste of my cum.

“Holy fucking shit, baby… Fuck yes.” I hold his face while fizzling down from my high, flushed all over and shivering.

Dr. Love pulls his mouth off and wipes it with the back of his hand. The look on his face is something I’m sure I’ll be remembering for the rest of my days… His slightly timid, but more aroused, startled yet exhilarated expression. Because he just sucked a man off and swallowed a load of cum. And he obviously really liked it.

A sudden, bizarre pang of jealousy stifles my chest from the inside.

“I only want you to do that to me,” I growl, tugging his lower lip with my fingers.

His gaze narrows as he slowly climbs over me, putting us face to face. “Since when do I take orders from you?”

I blink, my stomach rolling with all kinds of restless thoughts. What if he leaves me?? They always do…

What if he’s just using me to get himself used to being with men and then he ditches me to go out to the clubs and find hotter, less psychotic guys to fuck silly?!

I can’t speak. I’m feeling insanely possessive all of a sudden. That orgasm just turned up my crazy by a few notches.

My lips part, but he cuts off whatever I was going to say with his mouth, kissing me deep, feeding me his tongue so I can taste myself.

“You think just because I sucked the delicious sweet cum out of your perfect cock, that means I’m yours to order around? Well, let me remind you of something, Carver…” He grabs my thighs and lifts my legs, bending them at the knees. Then he pushes his massive erection between my cheeks until I grunt. “Serial killer or not, I ain’t afraid of you. I’ll suck you and fuck you whenever I want, and you’ll keep your stubborn, bratty mouth shut. Got me?”

My heart jumps against my ribs, my lips quivering while I gape up at him. “But only me… right?” His eyes are squinted in his state of baffled frustration. “You’ll only suck and fuck me…?”

“That’s none of your concern,” he mumbles, then backs away, abruptly flipping me so that I’m on my stomach. He slaps my ass, hard, and I gasp. “Get ready, baby. I’m gonna fuck you so hard and so deep my dick will bruise your tonsils.”

A mewl escapes me and I shiver. I’m uneasy about him refusing to tell me I’m the only one, but I can’t focus on that when I know I’m about to get some of that perfect dick in my ass.

I’ve been buzzing for it since the other day. The way his cock touches that spot inside me is the best, most intense pleasure of my life. I’ll give up my jealousy for it. No hesitations.

Dr. Love yanks me up onto all fours, then he grabs his belt and kneels next to me, making it into a loop.

“W-what are you doing?” I ask, my cock refilling already.

“I’m tying you up,” he answers casually. “Because you need to understand who’s in charge here.”

I gulp. “Okay…”

He loops the belt through the bars of his headboard, then around my wrists, tightening it so that I’ll have to lean on my elbows or do the face down ass up. He grabs something from his nightstand, then positions himself behind me, the feel of slick fingers sliding between the crack of my ass causing me to whimper.

“I’ve been thinking about being inside you for days, Felix,” he mumbles, stuffing one inside to get me wet. “Your ass is the best thing I’ve ever had wrapped around my cock.”

When he’s done probing me, he spreads me open, guiding the plump head of his dick up to my hole.

“I want you to tell me how you feel throughout this process, okay, baby?” he says in his usual robotic tone, though it’s much more wickedly smooth now, like a satin scarf wrapped around my throat. “I want to hear your voice while I fuck you.”

“Yes, Doctor,” I purr, going out of my mind already. And he isn’t even inside me yet.

He gives his dick a nice shove and the head breaks through. We both let out harsh moans.

He drives in farther. “I swear to God… I could watch myself disappear inside this tight cunt all day, every day.”

“Mmmfff…” I fall forward, burying my face in the pillows. They smell like him. I’m clenching.

“Holding on to me tight, baby?” He drives in deeper, stretching my ass with his girth.

“Uh-huh,” I whine into the pillow, popping my ass out for him, giving him full access.

I’ve never felt such a deep yearning to be filled to the hilt before, and honestly, I fucking love it.

Dr. Love feeds me inches for what feels like an eternity. His dick is so long, by the time he finally gets balls deep, I think I can really feel it in my goddamn stomach. He presses his pelvis against my cheeks, then leans over my back, dropping plush kisses up and down my spine.

When he draws back and thrusts back in, a zap lights up my prostate. I sob into the pillows, but he rips them away from my face.

“I told you to talk to me, sick boy,” he hisses, grabbing me by the throat and lifting me, as much as he can with my arms tied to the headboard. He seals his chest to my back, the curves of his muscles beneath that silky smooth skin warming me as his lips brush my ear. “Let me hear that twisted mouth of yours.”

“Uhhmmff,” I gasp, arching up to him while he pushes and pulls in and out of my ass, the lubricated friction driving me wild. “I… I… you’re tearing me apart.”

“Mmm… and do you like it?” he hums in my ear, sucking the lobe gently.

“I love it.” I quiver. “The feeling of your cock in my ass.”

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” His mouth moves onto my neck.

“So hard. And long…”

“I’m up in your guts right now, aren’t I?” he rumbles and I gasp out a hoarse mewl. I fucking love when a bit of his non-doctor side comes out.

When he sheds even one of his robot layers… It drives me wild.

I nod fast, his hands moving to grip my pectorals while he pumps into my ass from behind. My cock is as stiff as a pole between me and the bed, already desperate to come again. I’ve never been one to experience orgasms so close together, but Dr. Love and his wonder-dick make all things possible.

His left hand slides down my abs, teasing and tickling the flesh of my pelvis.

“Touch me. Please, Doctor,” I beg him, and he obliges, curling his fist around my cock.

“What do you want me to do with your dick, Felix?” He uses the other hand to hold me steady while pounding up into me with ravaging thrusts.

“Stroke it,” I whimper, my head lolling back onto his shoulder. “Milk the cum out of it and feed it to me.”

“Dirty little monster,” he growls, immediately pulling on my cock, from the balls all the way up, then back down. Tugging the hand away quickly, he commands, “Spit,” which I do. He croons, “Good boy,” then he goes back to jerking, using my saliva while matching his thrusts with the tempo of his hand.

Something about this angle and his shallow bucks has him living on my prostate, the pleasure winding up in my loins, causing precum to flow from my cock. He swipes it with his fingers and stuffs them into my mouth. I suck my own flavor without hesitation, then he jerks me tighter, squeezing my dick and really just pulling spurts of cum out. He brings his fingers to his own mouth this time, sucking them clean.

“I want you to eat my cum,” I whisper, lost in a hazy trance of another impending orgasm. “All day, every day. I want to drink yours while you drink mine.”

“You taste so fucking good,” he breathes, his thrusts picking up as his muscles tighten. I think he’s getting close. “I would love to suck the cum out of you while my dick pulses all the way down your throat.”

“Ffuck me, I’m gonna come again,” I whimper.

“I’m right there with you, baby,” he purrs, pinching my nipple between his fingers while his other hand pumps my cock.

The sounds of his hips smacking against my ass, harder and harder, both of us grunting and groaning and gasping until we’re about to snap, are like a hedonistic music. The bed is creaking, banging against the wall, and I’m stiffening up all over, about to shoot from the sky like a comet with this man.

Suddenly, and with frantic movements, Dr. Love removes the belt from around my wrists and pulls out of me. He flips me around, tossing me onto my back, and I barely have time to process what’s happening before I’m catching cum on my face.

His hand jerks himself rough, groaning as he sprays his load all over my jaw and down my neck. “Fuck yes, Felix. Goddamn, you look like a dream decorated in my cum.”

I’m buzzing, lying there keyed up and ready to explode. I’m wound up so tight, even him coming on me feels like pleasure. My balls are aching, drawn up and heavy.

And as soon as he’s done coming, he lets out a sigh and drops his mouth down onto my dick. The warm, wet suction gets me off in seconds flat.

Dr. Love swallows another load of my cum, greedily groaning as he does, taking my hands in his and squeezing them tight.

I’m fucking floored.

“You really love drinking my cum, huh?” I purr while my chest heaves up and down, sweat-kissed skin cherishing the bite of cool air in the room.

He looks up at me with my cock in his mouth, sucking up to the tip before letting it flop free. “I do. Why do I love swallowing for you so much?? I’m fucking straight.”

I let out a sated chuckle, swiping his cum off my face with my thumb and stuffing it into my mouth. He sits back. “Not so straight now, are you, Dr. Love?” He gives me a scolding look and I laugh again. “You’re just as much of a fucking weirdo as me.”

“There are a few key differences, I think,” he rumbles, reaching off the bed, coming back with his shirt.

He uses it to wipe the leftover cum off my neck and chest. Then he tosses it, pressing a soft kiss on my mouth. “Why do you sometimes call me Dr. Want?”

“Because I want you,” I tell him without hesitation.

“Isn’t that the same name you had for your mannequin friend?” His brow arches.

“Yea… So?” I shrug. “You remind me of him. You’re both my confidantes. Only I wanted him to be real, and I want you to—”

My voice cuts out suddenly when I realize I’m about to say something that might make him leave. He gawks at me for a moment, like I’m completely insane, and I won’t say it bothers me, because I know I’m fucked up. I’m just growing more and more worried about him leaving now…

Because as we know… They all leave Felix Darcey.

But then an unexpected smile forms on his lips. One that’s bigger and brighter than any of his tiny lip twitches I’ve seen before. It’s such a miraculous thing to witness, I can see it, plain as day, even without my glasses on. I’m instantly swept away.

And now I can barely even remember what I was just thinking.

“See what I mean?” he hums out a soft laugh through his sunset of a smile. “We’re very different people.”

I swallow. “Do you hate it?”

He shakes his head. “No. I don’t. But you can call me Lem. Instead of always calling me Dr. Love. If you want…”

My heart has expanded in my chest, like those little capsules you used to drop in water that would turn into a sponge creature. It almost hurts, it’s so drastic. But the pain feels good.

It reminds me that I’m alive. And that this is real.

“It doesn’t turn you on when I call you Doctor…?” I smirk, blinking my heart eyes up at him.

“It does. Of course it does.” He brushes my hair back with his fingers. “Because you’re my patient… and you’re dangerous and we’re definitely not supposed to be naked in bed together.”

“Mmm… So what you’re saying is that this is forbidden?” My grin widens.

So does his. “Yes.” He kisses me again. “But you’re also more than my patient, Felix.”

My stomach flips upside down. “I am?” He nods. I run my fingertips along his jaw. “Lem.”

His eyelashes flutter while he smiles. “Darcey.”

I chuckle, and he kisses me. He kisses me softly, yet seriously; treasuring and perfect. The type of kiss I’ve never gotten before. It’s not hungry with lust and a need to build up to release. It’s not laced with any bad stuff, or masking a goodbye. It’s just a kiss between two men who aren’t sure what the fuck they’re doing, but who are basking in the uncertainty.

When he pulls back, I gaze up at him. And even though he’s a little blurry, I can see it in his eyes…

He wants me, too.

The room is dark.

The kind of dark that envelops you. Not even a single stream of light from anywhere.

And quiet, which just adds to the darkness. The feeling that I’m trapped, lost in a chasm of nothingness.

But then I realize my wrists are raw. The pain awakens something inside me and I snap out of it. I try looking around, but I can’t see anything. I’m blind.

No. I’m blindfolded.

Shifting, I attempt to move, but my neck is also bound, held to something so tightly that I can’t breathe well. The more I wake up to the sensations, the more pain bounds back to my consciousness. My throat is burning, inside and out. It’s as dry as a bone and my tongue feels swollen. On the outside, my neck is raw. My head feels like it weighs a million pounds, but I have no choice but to keep it upright. I’m… suspended by something.

All the muscles in my body are screaming. I’m screaming. But nothing is coming out.

There’s a gag in my mouth.

I try to flex against the restraints holding me, but I’m not strong enough.

I’m not as big as I am now.

I’m younger. A boy, just becoming a man.

My jaw is sore and aching from being stretched for the gag, and spit is flowing from my mouth. I try to kick against what’s holding my legs, but when I do, it just puts more pressure on my neck and throat.

Anger rises inside me, and I roar behind the gag. Where the fuck am I??

My brain is sluggishly trying to piece together a puzzle. But it’s not making any sense. How would I get here? Who did this to me?

Suddenly, I hear a noise. The slow creak of a door opening. Fear zips up my spine.

Focus, Lem. You can get through this.

Fight.

I hear footsteps, and I try to concentrate on the things I know. Something that might help me. The restraints are made of rope. Rope can expand if enough pressure is put on it. I push forward against the rope that holds my arms and my neck. It kills, digging into my already chaffed and bloody skin. The footsteps are growing closer.

You’re strong enough. Fight fight FIGHT!

The blindfold is ripped off of my eyes. They try to adjust, but it’s still so dark around me.

He says something… And I don’t hear the words because I’m too busy focusing on his voice.

His familiar fucking voice.

He touches me. I cringe.

I keep pushing against the rope while tears seep from my eyes.

He does things to me that I don’t want, but I try like hell not to think about it.

I just keep fighting, using all of my body weight, rubbing my wrists and my throat raw. I can’t breathe and I’m going dizzy.

He’s going to win…

This time I won’t get out.

“Hey… Lem.”

The gentle voice pulls me out of the dark hole I was in, and I blink myself awake.

I’m not there anymore… I’m in bed. In the Ivory Mansion.

With Felix fucking Darcey, gazing at me.

“Are you okay?” He blinks.

His glasses are back on. I want to ask him how long he’s been up, but I can’t seem to find any words right now. He wasn’t wearing them when we passed out, tangled up in one another. A giant king-sized bed yet we slept wearing each other like clothing.

His head rests on the pillow, our faces only inches apart while we stare at one another.

“You were talking in your sleep,” he whispers.

I’m surprised. I didn’t know I did that… Then again, no one’s ever stayed with me enough to find out. Even Gabrielle and I rarely spent the night together. I prefer to sleep alone… Unless, of course, I’m harboring a serial killer in my bed. Then apparently it’s cuddle time.

“What was I saying?” I ask, placing my hand on his waist beneath the blankets. He’s naked… and so am I.

“You were telling someone to fight,” he murmurs, gray eyes shining at me from behind his glasses. “Telling them to get out.”

I nod, quickly changing the subject. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mhm.” He grins, scooting his naked body up to mine.

Folding my arms around him, I hold him close to me while I wonder what the hell I’m doing. Why is the first person I’ve ever felt so comfortable with a serial killer? There must be something wrong with me…

“If I ask you something, will you be completely honest with me?” I ask him, running my fingers up and down his muscular back.

He’s so obviously not female; it has my head spinning. But I can’t deny how good this feels…

He tilts his chin to look up at me. “Do you think I’ve been lying to you this whole time?” He appears hurt.

“No.” I shake my head.

“Then why would you even think you need to ask me that?”

“I just want to make sure you’ll always be truthful… Even if it’s something that you think might drive me away or upset me.” I give him a look, brows raised, waiting for him to accept what I’m saying.

He nods. “I will. I’ll be honest. No matter what.”

“Have you ever wanted to hurt me?” Our eyes are locked together, intensity barreling in from both sides.

I witness his throat dip. “No.”

“Felix…”

“No, I’m being serious. I don’t want to hurt you… I…” His voice trails before he whispers, “I want you to like me.”

My blinking becomes rapid for a moment as my lips curve into a flattered grin. But I wipe it away and go serious. “But you wanted your victims to like you, too. Well, the ones you liked.”

He grins. “Yea, but they did like me. You, I feel like I have to chase…”

I purse my lips to smother even more psychotic smiles that want to hijack my lips. My hands run down to his ass and I squeeze. “Are you chasing me, monster boy?”

“What can I say?” He sighs. “I have daddy issues.”

I growl at him. “I’m thirty-seven. I’m hardly old enough to be your father.”

“Ehh… almost.” He beams, teasing me with that mouthy attitude of his.

I roll him onto his back, pinning him down with my body weight. “You need to watch your mouth… What does Joy call you? Killer bee?”

He laughs out loud. “Yes. Yes, she does.”

“I think it works.” I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck, sniffing him and kissing his pulse.

“It does have a ring to it.” He becomes breathy in his state of arousal.

“What does my killer bee want for breakfast?” My head is all cloudy with desire. The warm cotton candy fuzz of this peculiar sensation… Being with him. It’s unlike anything I’ve felt before.

I just don’t get it, but he’s… He’s somehow carved his way into my chest.

When I realize he’s gone still, I pull back to find him staring at me. “How long do I get to stay here?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Until they tell me to bring you back?”

He cackles. “Boy, you really haven’t thought this through. What do you think The Ivory is gonna do when he finds out he’s unintentionally sharing a roof with me?”

I think about what he’s asking me for a moment, before I shake my head. “I imagine he’ll be upset. But then he’ll realize that the nature of my research is fundamental and he’ll be forced to let it go.”

“What if he fires you?” Felix asks, eyes all round and filled with sudden worry.

“I don’t think that will happen…”

“But you can’t be sure.” He begins to squirm. “No no no. I won’t go back to how it was before. I was so lonely. I can’t do it again.” His eyes plead with me. “You can’t leave.”

I brush his chestnut hair back with my fingers in an attempt to calm him down. I knew this was inevitable with Felix. His attachment to me. I mean, he’s killed most of his lovers to keep them from leaving. And sure, he claims that he’s never wanted to hurt me, but that doesn’t mean that won’t change when I decide it’s time to leave.

The thing is that I’m not afraid of him… I think I’m afraid of me. Because the idea of leaving suddenly makes my chest tight and twists my stomach up in knots like I might be sick.

“Felix, I know things have gotten complicated,” I tell him calmly. “But trust me when I tell you, you’ll be fine without me. You don’t need me for anything.”

“It’s not about need, it’s about want. I want you.” He grows clearly frantic as I pull away from him, sitting back in the bed. He sits up as well, eyes widening in severity. “And if you try to leave me, I’ll fucking kill you, too. Just like the rest of them.”

My jaw clenches, and I hop off the bed. “Felix, enough.”

“I’m serious.” He follows me. “I’ll cut out your heart so I can keep it forever,” he hisses as he chases me around the room. “I’ll slice your face up to keep you smiling because you’re that important to me.”

“Felix! Enough,” I roar at him. He stops and blinks over round stormy eyes. “I do not respond to bullshit threats like this. Now cut the shit and act right before I have to take you over my goddamn knee.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he mumbles, “H-how do you know I won’t do it…?”

I step up to him. “Because I won’t fucking let you, that’s how. If I didn’t allow the last guy to take my life, then I’m sure as shit not going to die by the hands of a stubborn brat like you, who kills as his own form of temper tantrum.” He’s making a face like he still wants to defy me, to argue about it. So I grab him by the throat and he hums. “Go head, sick boy. You want to kill me? Now’s your chance.” We’re seething at one another, naked and panting, adrenaline jacked from both sides. I lean over him. “Do it. I dare you.”

His dark lashes fan over his cheeks in heavy blinks as his pupils blow out and he wets his lips. When I feel something poking me, I glance down to find him rock hard, his erection pressing into my abs. It gives my balls a nice throb.

“I… I want blueberry pancakes. Please,” he rasps. “Extra butter and syrup.”

I eye him carefully. Stern, yet victorious. “Bacon or sausage?”

“B-bacon.” He shivers.

I let go of him and wander away, going for my phone to call Kent. I can probably have him bring food up to us without me having to leave Felix alone in here.

“Thank you, Lem,” he whispers, and I turn over my shoulder, mimicking a kiss for him.

Because he’s finally being polite and reasonable again, and he deserves the affection as a reward. He plucks at his bottom lip with his fingers.

As I’m ordering the food, he saunters closer to me. “Hey, you said you didn’t allow the last guy to take your life…” I freeze with my phone in my hand. “What did that mean?”

“Nothing,” I chirp firmly. “Don’t worry about it.” I kiss him on the jaw. “Food will up in a few. You’re welcome to use my toothbrush and anything that’s in the shower. I also have clothes in the closet you can wear.”

“I get to wear your clothes?” He gasps, sounding excited. I peek at him. “Do you think they’ll fit me?”

I chuckle. “You act like I’m a giant compared to you. We’re almost the same size.”

“Whatever you say, Dr. Want.” He grins and I roll my eyes.

He wanders away to use the restroom while I text back and forth with Kent. I have no messages from anyone about Felix just yet, so here’s hoping it’ll take the guards at least another day to realize he’s gone. Manuel will already know… I’m sure the control room operators told him. The ones who are left, anyway.

Right? There’s no way they’re that bad at their jobs…

When I’m done, I place my phone down and turn to find Felix standing in the doorway of the bathroom, watching me.

“I thought I told you to shower,” I growl at him and he gulps visibly.

“I was thinking about what you said…” he murmurs. “About putting me over your knee…” He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. “Would you really do that?”

I take a warning step closer. “You wanna find out?”

His face lights up with excitement and he whips around, sauntering his irresistible naked ass back into the bathroom. And I follow him… Because the lunatic has me wrapped around his finger.

Later that day, after the sun has set, I have Felix on my lap, grinding his hips into mine while we make out like horny teenagers.

We’ve spent pretty much the entire day attached, and while I think I love putting my dick in his body more than I’ve ever loved anything, right now is more about those slow, leisurely kisses. You know the ones when you’re first getting to know someone… Only just dipping a big toe into the waters of the physical, testing each other out. Exploring in more intimate ways than just fucking can provide.

For example, I’m finding that his hands on my chest speed up my pulse considerably. I enjoy being touched by him, but he seems to have a thing for torsos. He likes to trace my muscles with his fingertips, doing the same with my tattoos.

I’ve been getting inked since I was seventeen, but Felix doesn’t have any. His creamy virgin skin is unmarked, like freshly fallen snow.

It fills me with an unbridled need to mark him.

He also makes these tiny noises when we’re kissing; breathy little gasps. They cause a major thump in my balls because it’s like a gauge. They tell me how good he’s feeling, and how much he likes it.

I never in a million years pictured myself hooking up with someone like Felix, for a myriad of different reasons. But now that I’m doing it, I can’t seem to stop. I’ve become addicted to him so quickly. He’s like heroin.

One hit, and I was a goner.

I’m sitting on the bed, propped up against the headboard with Felix straddling my hips. My hands are on his jaw while his grip my chest. And our lips are unbreakable, like magnets. Sucking and nipping, tongues fighting for control. He’s wearing only boxers because every time he puts something on, it ends up off. And I’m wearing some of my sweats, because I’d planned on going to the gym for a few. But how can I leave when I have something this tempting locked away in my room, like a dirty little secret?

Felix is writhing into me, his dick so long and engorged, it’s sticking out of his boxers. And every time he drags his balls along the shape of my cock through my pants, he whimpers into my mouth and his dick pulses. It’s mesmerizing.

What has this kid done to me??

How am I ever going to cut myself loose from Felix Darcey?

“Felix…” I grunt into his mouth.

“Lem,” he purrs, trembling in my arms.

“Slow, baby,” I scold him in a coaxing tone. “You’re leaking all over me.”

He pulls his lips back long enough to glance down at the sticky mess he’s making all over my abs. “I’m sorry… I’m getting too excited. You make everything feel so good.”

My heart thumps behind my ribs, but I ignore it. “I’m glad, gorgeous. I want to make you feel good. But you’re making a mess, and we’ve already showered twice.”

“Mmm…” He sucks my lower lip. “I’ll clean it up.”

My cock leaps beneath him. “Do it now. Let me see.”

He scrambles backward, leaning down enough to lick up his precum from my abs, getting every last drop. When he’s done, he peeks up at me, biting his lip. And I’m really not sure how, but I can hear him without him speaking a single word, asking, Taste?

I nod, dazed, as he crawls back up onto my lap and kisses me slow. I touch my tongue to his, tasting the salt and that unmistakable Felix flavor that I can’t get enough of.

Seriously, I lived for thirty-seven years, never knowing I would love the taste of a man’s cum. Have I been missing out this whole time? Have I always been secretly bisexual? Or is it just him… Felix Darcey, the psycho killer?

I can’t say for sure, but when I think about other men—when I pass the guards downstairs or in the prison—I don’t find myself giving a fuck what they taste like. I’m not interested in seeing their dicks. Maybe just for comparison or something, but I don’t think I want to get on my knees and suck them off. It makes me feel strange inside, like something unsettling in my stomach.

But when I think about doing it to Felix… my entire body reacts. A slow fire burns from my loins up to my chest, and my fingers jerk with need. He’s the one I want… Which is very fucking inconvenient because I’m really not supposed to have him.

I’m two seconds from ripping his glasses off—I need to really devour him, and I don’t want them in the way—when there’s a knock at my bedroom door. We both stop and stare at one another, lips hovering, the sounds of our ragged breaths rippling through the quiet.

“Did you ask him for anything else?” Felix asks, referring to Kent, who’s already been up here twice bringing us food. Well, bringing me food, as far as he’s concerned.

I shake my head. The knocking resumes.

Felix hops off of me, both of us scurrying toward the bathroom. I run my fingers along his bare back, guiding him inside.

“Stay in here, baby,” I whisper. He nods diligently, eyes wide as he chews on his puffy bottom lip. “Don’t make a sound. I’ll get rid of them.”

He looks like he wants to say something, but he simply nods again. I close the door to the bathroom, spinning and rushing to the bedroom door while the knocking is becoming more persistent. Taking a deep breath, I put on my most aloof face as I unlock it and pull it open.

“Can I help you?” I ask the man on the other side, whom I’ve never seen before.

He’s shorter than me, slim, brown-skinned with tight curls kept short and faded on the sides, two nose rings and some very piercing teal eyes that may or may not be contacts.

He smiles politely at me. “Hello, Dr. Love! I’m so pleased to finally meet you in person.” His voice is familiar. He extends his hand to shake mine. “I’m Yari Estevez. We’ve spoken on the phone multiple times.”

Ah, so this is Yari. I shake his hand firmly. “Yes, right. Nice to meet you.”

His gaze subtly flicks down to my bare chest before coming back up. He has a sort of suspicious glint in his eyes, but he offers me a polite grin.

“What can I do for you?” I grumble. “I just got back from the gym and I’m in for the night, so…”

“Well, unfortunately, your R&R will have to wait,” Yari says. “Mr. Blanco has requested your company in the atrium. It’s a beautiful night. Perfect for a nightcap.”

I gape at him, some nerves slinking around inside me. The Warden wants to see me… That can only mean one thing.

“Can’t it wait until morning…?” I mutter, really trying to stall this until I can figure out what to do with Felix. Or what to say to The Ivory.

“The matter is pressing, I’m afraid.” Yari gives a serious little nod. “Go ahead and throw some clothes on. Business casual is fine. I’ll be right here waiting to bring you down.”

“You’re going to stand outside the door?” My eyes widen at him like he’s crazy. “I know where the atrium is.”

“Mr. Blanco’s request, Dr. Love. He’s the boss.” Yari grins.

He’s very charming, and seems nothing shy of casual, but still. I can’t help feeling on edge. The way he’s demanding me to go meet The Ivory this late. And he’s going to wait outside my bedroom??

They definitely know Felix is in here.

I gulp and nod slowly. “Alright. Just… give me a minute.”

“Take your time,” he says politely.

I close the door and lock it, rushing immediately to the en suite. I go to open the door, but it’s locked. Smart.

I knock as softly as I can manage. “Felix, open the door.”

The words are barely out of my mouth as he’s opening it a crack, peeking through nervously. I push my way inside and close it behind me.

“What happened?” he asks, unease dripping from his tone.

“That was the Warden’s assistant. He wants me to go downstairs and meet him outside.” I rub my eyes.

“Now??” Felix starts pacing. “Oh, God… we’re fucked. He knows I’m in here. He’s gonna freak out!”

“Shh… calm down, baby.” I grab his hand and pull him to me, placing his palm down over my heart. He seals his body to mine, resting his forehead on my shoulder. “It’ll be fine. I just need you to stay in here and stay quiet. Can you do that for me?”

He nods, then lifts his head to lock our eyes. “What if they come in here looking for me while you’re gone?”

“They won’t. I’ll make sure of it,” I tell him with confidence, taking his jaw in my hands.

“How do you know?” he breathes.

Here’s a new sensation I’m only just discovering… When Felix is upset, or worried, it bunches my stomach up and fills me with a jittery need to do whatever I can to erase those angst lines from his forehead.

“Trust me?” I murmur, and he nods. No trepidation, no questioning.

He trusts me…

The notion fills me with warmth, but also some concern of my own. Why does his trust feel like an extremely fragile plate of glass I’m balancing on my fingertip?

I press a kiss on his lips. “Put some clothes on and just stay quiet. If you hear anyone coming, go inside the closet and hide.”

Letting go of him, I rush over to my desk, shuffling through the top drawer to locate my phone. Not my work one that they gave me, my actual phone, which I haven’t used once since I’ve been here. I power it on and hand it to Felix.

“If you need me, call the first number in the call log. That’s my work phone. And I’ll come get you, okay?”

He’s staring at the device in his hands like it’s some sort of foreign object he’s never seen before.

“Felix.” I snap my fingers in front of him, and he glances up, nodding.

“Okay. Sure.”

I hurry to get dressed in some slacks and a button-down while Felix just hovers in the middle of the room, looking tense.

I give him one last kiss and tell him, “It’ll be fine, killer bee. I promise.”

His lips twitch at the nickname. “Be careful.”

I wink at him, nodding for him to go back into the bathroom, which he does. Then I leave the bedroom, finding Yari standing out in the hall on his phone.

He looks up when he hears me and smiles. “Ready?”

I nod. Ready to get my ass chewed out by The Ivory? Sure, why not.

We walk the corridor, then down the steps. In the foyer, Kent joins us, silent as always, like a bodyguard. I know that’s his primary purpose. He and this other guy, Nestor, are like Manuel Blanco’s security team. They’re also drivers—though The Ivory has his own chauffeur for his Rolls, which is what drives him to and fro on this island—and the guys who fetch you whatever you need from off-island. I deal mostly with Kent, and he’s a good guy. He does a lot of running around for me, and he never complains.

But right now, I’m worried. Because of course his loyalty is to The Ivory, so there’s nothing stopping him from telling his boss all the things he’s been getting for Felix on behalf of me. I know I was given free rein of the island and Manuel Blanco’s resources, but I have to assume there’s a limit. Everything comes at a cost.

The three of us wander through the downstairs, and I can’t help but notice how eerily quiet it is inside. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard any partying noises from the guards’ quarters in at least a week, and I’m guessing it has to do with the lockdown.

Also, now that I’m thinking about it, I haven’t seen Velle or Joy in a few days… Not that I see them too often, but they’re usually around.

I stuff aside my curiosities as we walk past the bar, through the side door that brings you out onto the stone patio. It’s a lovely little area, surrounded by trees and plants, lavishly furnished, complete with a grill and twinkly lights strung overhead.

I remember when I brought Felix through here to get to the mansion last night… the way his eyes lit up, his head bobbing all around to take in the scenery. I would love to bring him out here… Let him enjoy the setting and just relax.

I shake myself out of it. He’s a serial killer. He’s supposed to be in prison.

I spot Manuel Blanco right away, sitting slouched on one of the love seats with a glass of brown liquor in his hand. And I can tell right away that something is up with him.

His collar is undone, no tie, which is rare for him. His white hair is a bit disheveled and he has circles underneath his eyes. He looks stressed, and while he is sitting casually, ankle crossed over his knee, his foot is twitching as he stares into his glass, dark eyes zoned in on something that I’m guessing only he can see.

A memory flashes… Of the last time I saw him. When he slit that control room guard’s throat open…

I gulp as we move over to the other chairs, and Yari clears his throat, which gets Blanco’s attention. He glances up at us and forces a tight smile.

“Lem. Great to see you.” He gestures to the adjacent chair. “Have a seat. Kent, go fetch us some drinks, will you? Yari, my dear boy, I know you’ll have 1800 and soda. Lem, what would you like to drink?”

“I’m fine,” I rumble.

“He’ll have a Macallan.” Manuel ignores me. “In fact, bring the bottle. And my cigars, while you’re at it.”

Kent rushes off and I take a seat in the chair, eyeing Manuel carefully in my peripheral. Yari sits down on a seat across from where el jefe is sitting, pulling his phone back out to resume his rapid typing.

The Ivory’s gaze goes far away for a moment. He seems deep in some sort of distressed thought, which is odd, to say the least. This behavior is very different from his normally haughty overconfidence.

“How are things coming along?” he asks Yari. “With the recruiting?”

“We’ll make it work,” Yari answers. “It might take some time, you know, being that we’ll want to properly vet them and whatnot.”

Manuel nods. “I want the best of the best. No exceptions.”

“Of course,” Yari says, glancing up from his phone at Manuel. “Were you able to speak to Jonathan again, now that you’ve both cooled down—”

“No one is cooled down,” Manuel hisses. “And I’ll deal with him, don’t you worry.”

Yari’s brows zip. “I just mean that you were obviously upset. And Jonathan—”

“If you say his name to me again, I will smash you in the face with this glass.” Manuel speaks so calmly, if you weren’t listening to his words, you’d think he’s just casually chatting.

“Yes, sir,” Yari mutters, falling in line, though not quite fazed by the threat.

I assume being Manuel Blanco’s assistant, you probably get used to it.

Still, it doesn’t sit right with me. And Jonathan… Are they talking about Velle? Did something happen??

“Is everything alright?” I ask Manuel, not out of concern, but out of impatience. If he’s going to be acting like a baby over whatever personal shit he’s dealing with, then I’d rather just go back up to my room.

Back to Felix…

“It’s none of your concern,” Manuel says as Kent returns. He hands us each a drink, and Manuel a cigar, which he wastes no time lighting. “You are here, Lem, because we need to talk. About The Carver.”

He pauses to eye me vehemently… Maybe to see how I react to hearing what Felix is called? Who knows, but I remain still.

He takes a puff of his cigar, releasing the smoke and watching it swirl up into the air.

“It truly is a beautiful night,” The Ivory murmurs in between blowing smoke rings. “One of those nights when I’m quite grateful for the ability to spend time here… In my home.”

His eyes flit to mine and they sort of bore into me, that cavernous black holding such pressure inside it. Like coal being compressed into diamonds.

I know what he’s getting at. He doesn’t even need to say the words…

He knows Felix is here right now.

Taking a sip of my scotch, I focus on the burn as it slides down my throat. “What did you want to know, Manuel? About The Carver.”

He lets out an incredulous sort of huff, shaking his head in amusement. “You know, when I hired you, I thought I knew what I was getting into. I was well aware that your methods would be unorthodox, and I was actually excited about that fact. I figured you would get along quite well with Johansson and his team… That you would expand on their methods. Get deeper into the mind of that twisted little fuck in ways they’re simply not capable of.”

He sits forward, tilting his head at me, like a predator toying with its prey before that first chomp. “What I didn’t expect was for you to turn to putty in his blood-soaked hands.”

My jaw clenches in anger. If there’s one thing that pisses me off more than anything else, it’s people who assume they know what’s going on. And this asshole being the Warden doesn’t mean shit.

“I assure you that’s not what’s happening,” I growl, and he chuckles again. I seethe the words through gritted teeth, “I am in full control of Felix Darcey, and my research. Whatever you’ve seen is irrelevant. I’m doing my job, Manuel. Just as you’ve hired me to.”

He purses his lips. “I didn’t hire you to fuck my inmate.”

My spine stiffens, but I ignore it. “You’ve said it to me time and time again. My methods are my own. The ways in which I choose to examine Felix are up to me. But I’ll tell you right now, he is not taking advantage of me. I know exactly what I’m doing with him.”

The words I’ve just spoken echo in my mind, stinging my ears. The truth is, I have no idea what I’m doing with Felix. And our physical relationship very well could be jeopardizing my research and this job… In fact, I’m sure it is.

But I just… can’t find it in myself to care. Maybe because it’s still so new, such a unique, shiny thing that’s entered my world. But right now, it’s hard to imagine walking away from this. Even though I know I’ll have to eventually…

The Ivory stares at me for a moment in silence. “Your application said you were straight…”

“I am.”

His light eyebrow arches. “I saw the video of the sonogram.” Some shame slinks up my neck onto my face, but I ignore it, tossing back the rest of my glass. “I see everything that happens on this island, Lem. You know that.”

“So?” I shrug. “That means nothing. This is my research, Manuel. This is how I get to him. You told me yourself, you wanted me inside every crevice of his mind. Well, guess what? That’s exactly where I am. If I need to invade his body as well, then that’s what I’ll do. I’m not in a relationship with him… It’s work.”

Blanco’s expression changes, and he looks impressed. Taken aback, but pleased. “And I thought I was cold-blooded!” He lets out a chortle of amusement and finishes his drink, pouring himself some more from the bottle. “Well, Lem, if you say you have it under control, then I feel inclined to believe you. Also, because I won’t lie, watching your research unfold is highly entertaining.” A salacious twinkle flickers in his dark eyes.

I shift, attempting to get my emotions back on track, but they’re all sort of swarming up inside me. I have no clue what I’m doing…

I’m lost.

I’m weak.

I’m a fraud.

Maybe my parents are right… I’m an egotistical charlatan. What do I know, anyway??

Fucking my serial killer patient… Bringing him home with me??

Jesus Christ… I’m total disaster.

But I don’t let any of my hesitations show. I simply reach for the bottle when Manuel hands it out, pouring more scotch into my glass and sipping it quick.

“Based on the way things are going though, Lem, I will need to insist that you provide me daily research updates from now on,” he demands casually. “And I’m going to need Felix back in the prison.”

His eyes lock on mine. My breathing shallows and I gulp. The way he’s looking at me… I know this man could kill me right now if he wanted to. Apparently, I’ve made that very easy for him. I don’t think he will, but still… I need to tread lightly.

Assuming that I can get away with anything isn’t the smartest play here.

“You understand why… don’t you, Doctor?” he asks, narrowing his gaze at me.

I nod. “Yes. Of course. But I have to say… this experiment is groundbreaking. Getting him out of that prison was like being able to study him in his natural habitat.”

Blanco makes a face as if he doesn’t necessarily disagree. “Do you plan on allowing him to kill a member of my staff?” Kent’s face tilts in our direction, ears clearly perking up at that, and Manuel grins wickedly. “I just want to know so that I can be prepared.”

I sip from my glass. “I won’t say that it’s out of the realm of possibility. We have to just wait and see what he does.”

Manuel laughs out loud. “That is fantastic. So your dick is like some sort of Pavlovian bell… You are twisted, Lem. And I must say, I love it.”

I swallow down the nerves fizzling inside me with the rest of my scotch, setting the glass down. “Yes, well… I should be getting back.”

“Of course.” He gives me a knowing smirk that flushes me with even more shame as I stand up. “Do as you must for right now. But Lem… I am serious. I want Felix back in that prison.” He glares up at me, expression turning threatening. “Don’t make me do it myself.”

I nod and turn, quickly sauntering out of the room. I hear Yari’s voice as I’m heading back in chirp, “Goodnight!”

But I can’t look back. I need to get the fuck away from that situation. I don’t know what I was thinking down there. Half of what I was spouting was pure horseshit, and the rest, well… who knows.

My experiments with Felix have gone too far. I acknowledge that. This game I’ve been playing is getting out of hand. Am I Icarus? Flying too close to the sun…?

Will this job ultimately be the end of me?

I’m not sure. All I know is that right now, the need to get back to Felix is one that’s flowing through my bloodstream, like a poison I’ve become so painstakingly addicted to.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I race up to my floor, stalking the hall to my bedroom. Opening the door slowly, I peer inside, though I don’t see him anywhere. I rush to the en suite first, pushing the door open. He’s not in there. My heart is racing faster by the second.

Darting across the room, I go for the closet. It’s a walk-in, and quite nice. Stepping inside, I turn on the light, spotting Felix sitting at the opposite end, on the floor. When he sees that it’s me, his face eases into comfort and relief.

I can’t even help myself. I’m drawn. A moth to his wickedly captivating flame.

I go to him, dropping to my knees in front of where he’s sitting, wearing a pair of my gray sweatpants and my Johns Hopkins hoodie. I reach for his hand, taking it in mine and pulling him into me. He wastes no time wrapping himself around me like a warm blanket, burrowing his face into the crook of my neck to inhale.

And I do the same to him. I breathe in his smell, so masculine and heady, it makes my mouth water. I hold the back of his head with my hand, gripping him tightly, molding him to my body. He lets out a sigh, like he’s content. He’s happy… And I’ve made that happen.

I’ve never been certain that Felix can experience true happiness. He’s always been searching for it, and killing seemed to be the only thing that placated his restless soul.

I’m not sure that I could ever be enough for him, just me. And even though I didn’t know I wanted to be until this moment, it worries me, deep into my gut.

Because the sensation of holding him to me while he breathes, feeling his black heart beating on mine… It’s the thing I never allowed myself to want. The thing I told myself I didn’t need.

It’s my namesake. And it’s beyond fucking dangerous.

Being locked up, away from the rest of the world, is pretty easy to get used to. Humans are made to be adaptable. Believe it or not, only a few days in the joint and you’ve already grown accustomed to your surroundings.

Routine and regularity are what we’re internally programmed to want. Stability. We’re all searching for it. Well, most of us are.

It’s the whole reason why most human beings fear change. Abrupt and drastic changes throw you for a loop. They flip you upside down and force you to get used to a whole new bunch of shit.

So in prison, when you get used to the disgusting food, lack of fresh air and sun, exercise and entertainment, and then someone reintroduces you to it, it kind of shocks your system.

But we find ways to adapt…

For the past two weeks, Lem—that’s right, I call him Lem now—has been coming to my cell, after the lights go down in the East Wing’s row. Every night, he unlocks the door to my padded cell and pulls me out, and the two of us leave Alabaster Penitentiary as quietly as possible.

We walk through the woods, enjoying the summer’s evenings on an island miles and miles away from the commotion and lawlessness of the rest of the world. Then he brings me inside the Ivory Mansion, up to his bedroom. And we sleep together. Okay, we do more than that. But eventually, we do sleep. And in the morning, he brings me back.

Our sessions have changed drastically. We talk, yes. About my crimes, my past, the history of what led to where I am now. Unfortunately, we don’t talk about him. I wish we did… I’m desperate to learn more about him, because he knows literally everything there is to know about me. It feels epically one-sided.

But I don’t complain. Because I still like talking to him. I suppose I always have.

But more often than not, we fool around in his office, because we can’t seem to keep away from each other. Then he puts me back in my cell and waits until the lights go out.

And we do the whole thing over again.

It’s kind of hard to believe that this is my life now. I fully expected to be rotting in that prison until the day I would eventually take my own life. Because it’s what I deserve.

Years spent hurting people can only lead to one thing. The life I’ve led had only one discourse.

But Lem has thrown a wrench into all that. He sprung up in my world like a flower into the drab and devoid existence I’d been living, wrapped in a straitjacket and talking to the wall. He burst in like a breath of fresh air. As if someone opened a window in winter and let the icy breeze in.

He gave me something to focus on. Him.

And now I don’t really know what to think. I’m still here, still sentenced to eternity on this island. But because of Dr. Love, I get to walk in the sand. I get to smell the ocean air, and I get to make out against trees with a man who’s so overpoweringly sexy it’s impossible to keep myself from dropping to my knees to worship him in any way he wants.

The craving I have for him is stronger than any other I’ve ever experienced in my twenty-three years of life. And the craziest part of all is that I don’t actively want to kill him.

I’m terrified that he might leave me, sure. It keeps me up at night sometimes, after I wake up from one of my illustrious dreams about running through the forest, dewy grass and leaves brushing me as I scamper, chasing my prey while another predator chases me. When I turn over in Lem’s bed to watch him, and listen to him mumbling in his sleep, about whatever pictures he’s seeing in that complex mind of his, the fear that grips the inside of my throat is so thick, it’s like I swallowed a mouthful of tar. It coats my innards, making me so sick, so intensely scared, I can’t help the tears that slip from my eyes.

Quite literally tears for fears.

If I lose him, I don’t know what I’ll do. I think I might rip someone apart from limb to limb. It might even be me.

But even knowing that I feel this way, experiencing such suffocating emotions surrounding this man who I know almost nothing about, I don’t want to kill him. I don’t want to end his life to stop him from leaving me, because if I do… I won’t get to find out if he’ll stay.

It’s like a coin-flip. A toss-up. The ultimate wager.

Do I leave him alive and give him the chance to love me, or do I make a preemptive strike?

I’m sitting on his bed right now, watching TV. I know, right?? I’m a fucking serial killer! And I’m watching fucking Netflix.

It’s actually fitting. Lem put on season one of Mindhunter. He says it’s his favorite show, based on a book that he considers his Bible—one of the few details about himself I’ve been able to gain. You bet your ass I’m holding it as close to my chest as humanly possible.

But he’s not with me right now. He’s out in the hall on the phone.

We pretty much just got back to the mansion for the night and put the show on, getting ready for some Netflix and chill, when his phone rang. Lem grumbled out of annoyance, but he got up to answer it, anyway. And now I’m just jittering in place, hoping it’s nothing bad…

I’m going to be totally honest here… When he gave me his cell phone the other day, I may have glanced at his text messages. Okay, fine, I burrowed through that shit like a pig on the hunt for truffles. Because I’m a murderer. I’m pretty sure snooping through someone’s phone is the nicest thing I’m expected to do.

There wasn’t much to find. A few messages from someone named Emily about work stuff. One text from his father asking where he is and if he’s alright, which I thought was kind of sweet. A message from some doctor colleague.

But then I stumbled upon the booty call.

Some girl named Cynthia had texted him, asking if he wanted to get together again. Her message was very flirtatious and insinuated that they’ve gotten together before. It sent some pretty strong jealous rage rushing through my veins, and the killer with a lack of self-control in me almost replied telling her if she ever contacted this number again, I’d gut her like a fish and mail pieces of her to her entire family.

But I composed myself, because I’m a gentleman. And continued to dig.

That was when I found an entire thread between him and someone named Gabrielle. Another ex, I suppose, though this one it looked like he’d been involved with for a while.

It felt like someone was stabbing me in the chest with a fork, over and over again. Dull, throbbing aches behind my ribcage that made me want to throw up.

I’ve experienced jealousy before. Of course I have. But it was usually for someone I didn’t know. Someone I was watching from afar, imagining what it would be like if they were mine, and I could tell the person hitting on them to fuck off my man.

With Lem, I consider him mine, but I’m not sure if he really is. On occasion, he acts like he is… Sometimes the way he looks at me, the way he holds my face in his big hands and kisses my mouth softly, like he’s still so unsure of whether this is something he wants, but he just can’t stop himself… It’s like that time when he kissed me in my cell. There’s absolutely no way he feels nothing for me.

But he still acts mostly like my doctor. My doctor, who’s become surprisingly obsessed with putting his cock in me. It’s horribly frustrating.

I don’t know what to expect from him. I feel like I shouldn’t expect much, but I can’t help myself. It’s what I do, after all.

I’ve fallen in love with Love. Literally this time.

His footsteps approach the door, and I stow all my excess feelings, knowing damn well there’s no way I can tell him any of this. He’s already skittish as it is, being that he’s only ever been with women, and now he’s venturing into bisexual territory that scares the shit out of him. Not to mention he’s a robot, and even though I know there’s something in there similar to affection for me, based on the texts between him and his previous partners, he’s a love novice.

Lem stalks into the room, closing the door behind him and making his way back to the bed. He sets his phone down on the nightstand with a sigh, then kicks off his shoes, settling in next to me.

I’m dying to know who it was—if it was Cynthia begging for another ride on his perfect giant of a dick, or Gabrielle asking if they could get back together—but I know better than to ask. He won’t tell me, anyway. He never answers any of my questions about himself.

The only reason I even know where he’s from is because all the numbers texting him had Atlanta area codes.

He leans back against the headboard, focusing on the TV screen hanging on the wall opposite the bed, being his usual elusive self. I can’t help but stare at him, appreciating the line of his jaw and his neatly shaven facial hair. His full lips and symmetrical nose, immaculate eyebrows. Those dreadlocks. God, they’re sexy. I like holding on to them when we’re making out. And I love when he ties them back in a sort of half-ponytail thing.

Even his scars… the ones around his throat and on his wrists. I don’t know what they’re from, and of course he’d never tell me. But for some reason, his imperfections are just as alluring as the rest of him. More, even. Because they remind me that he’s human…

They make him look like someone who could survive someone like me.

He’s just so drop-dead stunning, I don’t even know how to act. From day one, I’ve been making a fool of myself around this man. I’m sort of shocked he’s even interested in me, in any type of way.

Swallowing down my insecurities, I bite my lip. What are we doing, Lemuel Love? Would you even want to call me yours? Or am I just dreaming…

“Felix,” he grunts my name in that tone of voice that gives my balls a nice throb.

“Lem,” I whisper, blinking up at his beautiful face.

His eyes drop to mine. “You’re staring at me.”

My lashes flutter nervously. “Sorry…”

“Are you not enjoying the show?” he asks, and there’s some minute desperation in his eyes that’s just about the cutest, sexiest thing ever. It’s really important to him that I like his favorite show…

Swoon city.

“Oh no, I’m definitely enjoying it,” I murmur, nestling up onto my side next to him, my fingers running up his thigh. “But when you Netflix and chill, you’re not really supposed to watch the show…”

His eyes darken and his wide chest moves with a heavy breath. “Is that right…?”

“Mhm.” I nod.

He shifts so that he’s fully facing me. “What are you supposed to do, then?”

“Take a wild guess.” I play with the button on his pants.

“Mmm…” he rumbles, catching my hand, then pressing it into his groin.

A flurry of breath escapes me as I rub up on him, feeling him stiffen beneath my palm. I’m fucking salivating already, my ass clenching with the greedy desire to be filled. I can’t even fathom how addicted I am to having his huge cock all the way up inside my body. It’s like being electrocuted with pleasure.

“My sexy little psycho wants to get dicked deep, hm?” he asks in a salacious brogue that sends a chill up my spine, and into my nuts.

I nod frantically and purr, “Fuck me, Doctor.”

He growls, grasping my face and pulling my lips to his. He kisses me raw for minutes, sucking and biting on my mouth, almost aggressively, and I fucking love it. My cock is leaking already.

“I think we should take a bath,” he murmurs on my swollen lips. “All these nights you’ve been staying in here and we’ve yet to use the tub.”

My eyelids peel open and I gaze at him, hooded with lust.

The tub…

Immediately, my mind flashes through all the times I’ve been in a bathtub with a man. More than twenty times, I believe.

The memories of warm water soaked red tickle my stomach. Lem stares at me, a knowing look on his face. This isn’t a coincidence, and he’s not stupid. He fully knows what he’s suggesting. Always experimenting.

A tingle of zeal starts in my toes and travels all the way up my body while I nod slowly. “I’d love to take a bath with you.”

He taps my chin with his knuckles. “Good.”

Then he gets up and takes my hand, helping me off the bed. And we scamper together to the en suite. The bathtub is a masterpiece. I would have killed to have something like this in my place—get it?

It’s a clawfoot tub, definitely large enough to fit two full-grown men, all chrome handles and a faucet with a detachable nozzle. A chandelier of dimmed light hangs above, and a mirror rests on the wall right beside it.

Almost too pretty to bloody up. I said almost.

Lem turns on the water and begins filling the tub, pouring in what looks like some oil and a sprinkle of bath salts that have rose petals and pieces of gold in it.

“Fancy,” I hum, biting my lip.

He peeks at me. “Get undressed.”

My dick jumps at his surly command. I fucking melt for the way he orders me around.

I pull my shirt over my head, then step out of my pants and boxers. Naked and unashamed, I stand before him, resisting the urge to cover up. I know by now that he likes my naked body, regardless of whether he understands why or not.

His eyes do a slow once-over, and he licks his lips. “Undress me.”

My pulse picks up as I step to him, unbuttoning his dress shirt first. I take my time, also because my fingers are shaking, and pop one at a time. Then I unbuckle his belt and undo his pants, untucking the shirt.

Lem makes a breathy sound, as if he likes having me remove his clothes. It turns him on.

Filling with confidence, I push the shirt off of his muscular shoulders and down his thick arms. I have to practically peel it off, it’s so tightly formed around the curves of his strength and size. Then I shove his pants down, with the boxers, crouching as I do.

I allow my fingers to slide down the thick trunks of his legs, peeking up at him. He’s gazing down at me, eyes filled with that mix of nervous curiosity and lascivious hunger that lights a fire in me. He lifts his feet so that I can remove the pants all the way, my eyes finding his junk like magnets. His dick isn’t fully hard yet, but still impressive as fuck, especially resting above those perfect balls. It’s regal, the whole package.

Forcing myself to stop ogling, I stand up slowly, both of us naked and breathing heavily in anticipation. My gaze flits to the mirror beside us, and I admire the reflection. How different we look… It’s astounding. We’re like two completely different pieces, pieces you’d never expect to fit together. But we do.

Perfectly.

Lem’s fingers brush mine, and I shudder. He spins away to turn off the water, and I watch him hungrily, his large body, dark and decorated in ink, all the curves and lines of his excessive muscles. They make my mouth water. His skin is so smooth…

All that delightful flesh.

“Felix,” he hums, taking my hand. “I want to try something with you.”

“Listening,” I reply anxiously, my dick pumping with more blood by the second.

He tugs me closer and our cocks brush together. I whimper. “This time, I’m going to be the killer… And you’ll play the victim.”

I gawk up at him for a moment. “You want to be me…?”

“I want to see you as your victims were,” he breathes, inching over my mouth. “Letting go of your control.” I’m trembling as my pulse pounds in my ears. “For my research.”

Right… Always experimenting.

“Sure. Research,” I mutter, but I still nod, because I will do any manner of depraved thing for this man. He says jump and I’m already plummeting. “I’ll be your victim, Dr. Want. Slay me.”

He hums a growly noise, gazing after my lips like he wants to bite them off my face. But he doesn’t. Not yet. Instead, he helps me into the bathtub.

I settle into the warm, soothing water, the smell of rose oil surrounding me in the steamy air. Lem steps into the tub, sitting across from me, our legs together while we face one another.

“Are you scared?” he asks, tilting his head. And in this moment, he could easily be the killer between the two of us.

There’s just something about him… I’ve felt it since the first time I met him.

He’s twisted, too.

And so, while I’m not necessarily scared of him, in playing the victim, I nod. Because if I were one of his victims, I’d be terrified.

He reaches onto the side table by the tub and picks up one of those large, soft bath sponges. “Let me take care of you, baby. I’ll show you that you have nothing to fear.”

God, my dick is hard. It’s practically poking out of the water.

Lem dunks the sponge into the water, and begins washing me. He starts with my feet, massaging them and cleaning them one at a time. Then he moves up my legs, scooting closer as he goes. He pulls me by my hand until I’m sitting astride his lap, keeping our eyes bound together while he washes in between my legs.

“Uhhmmff…” I mumble, eyes falling shut as he strokes my cock in the water, using the sponge to clean every inch of me. When he brushes it gently over my asshole, I shiver and he hums.

“You like that, don’t you?” His voice vibrates through me, the sponge moving up my back. I nod quickly. “You’re so innocent… So sweet and pure. I want nothing more than to treasure you, love.”

“It feels good,” I whisper while he squeezes the sponge out over my shoulders and chest, letting the warm water run all over me. “Your affection. I trust you.”

His throat dips in a visible swallow and he drops the sponge, using his wet hands now, running them all over my chest and up my neck. He goes for my glasses, but I shake my head, and he doesn’t press it any further. He moves on, which I have to appreciate.

“Ready?” he asks, and I’m not sure what he’s going to do, but I’m ready for all of it.

I nod, and he dips me backward, dunking me upside down so that just my hair goes into the water. Then he pulls me back up, brushing the wet strands back with his fingers.

My heart is galloping. This is so intense. I have no idea what’s going to come from this game, but I love it. I love having his hands all over me, and his huge hard body beneath me. His cock floating with mine in the water, rubbing all over each other. It feels sublime.

Lem swipes at a rose petal from my cheek, eyes stuck on my face like he’s studying every inch of it. Of me.

Then he pulls me to his mouth and he kisses me tenderly, sucking on my wet lips like he wants to devour every morsel of my flavor. I moan softly, gripping his shoulders while we kiss into a stupor, breathing harsh in between mauling one another’s mouths.

“I want to have you forever, my pet,” he rumbles.

And even though I know this is just part of his experiment, my heart flies inside my chest, sprouting wings and soaring all over the place. Just hearing him say those words is a dream come true…

If only it were real.

“Please… don’t hurt me.” My voice shakes. It replicates the words I’ve heard so many times, from so many men.

But when I say it to Lemuel, I mean it. It turns out I am afraid of him.

Afraid that when he carves my heart out of my chest, he’ll just throw it away.

“Don’t be afraid.” His gruff voice rings in my ears, bringing me back to my bathtub, in Brooklyn.

I hear myself saying the words, again and again.

Don’t be afraid.

An empty placation. They had every right to be scared. Just like I am now, only in a different sort of way.

Lem’s hand finds its way to my throat, and I take in one last deep breath before he begins to tighten.

I’m not sure how far he’s planning to take this. But I will allow him to squeeze the air out of me, because there’s something so thrilling about having a man’s hand around your throat. About giving up that control… Putting your life in someone’s hands is the ultimate release. It’s serenity. Turns out I enjoy giving it up as much as I crave holding it, something I may never have realized if it wasn’t for Dr. Lemuel Love.

He squeezes harder and my face tightens, our eyes locked. He hovers over me, and before I know what’s happening, I’m lying back in the water, with him on top of me. And he’s squeezing my throat hard enough that my lungs are burning and my eyes are watering.

“You’re supposed to be fighting this, Felix,” he growls in my face. “Like your victims would.”

“I… can’t…” I struggle to breathe.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a victim,” I croak. “And I would let you kill me in a heartbeat.”

His grip loosens, brows zipping together. “Do you want to die?”

My head shakes a little. “I don’t care.”

He blinks at me, like he’s part fascinated, part disturbed, and part sad. His fingers have completely given up on choking me out, and now he’s just brushing my moist flesh. He reaches onto the table and picks up a remote, pressing a button that immediately turns on some soft music.

I recognize it instantly. “This is my favorite song.”

He gapes at me, wild amber eyes full of so much emotion while Tears For Fears sing about everybody wanting to rule the world. And he mumbles, “Mine, too.”

I can’t help how I’m staring at him right now. Savoring that little droplet of information like it’s the first drip of red from the slice.

We have the same favorite song…

Lem reaches onto the table again, and this time his hand comes back holding one of those old-fashioned barber shop straight razors for shaving. My eyes fall to the glinting metal. The sharp blade. I glance back up at him, my breathing going shallow.

He presses it up to my throat, gently, but still. The slightest movement and he’d cut me.

My cock is unbelievably stiff, my mouth watering as chills rush all over me.

“Does this scare you?” he asks.

“No,” I hum, licking my lips.

“Does it turn you on…?”

“Yes.”

He rumbles, his lashes fluttering in a slow blink. He likes that.

My doctor likes my sickness.

Lem runs the blade down my sternum to my chest, watching his hand move as he goes. His eyes fling up to mine, pupils dilated like he just shot up some hard drugs. Then he digs the blade into my left pectoral, just above my heart.

It carves into my flesh, the sting instantly throbbing while blood dribbles from the cut. I moan softly, head dropping back. Fuck, yes…

The pain. The sight of the blood… It’s winding me up. I’ve never been turned on by the sight of my own blood before… But this is Lem cutting me.

He’s the killer, and I’m his victim.

“Felix,” he purrs, sounding like he’s falling apart while he cuts me again, making an X on my chest. His entire body is shivering as my blood runs down my chest.

“Lem… Lemuel,” I whimper, pulse pounding.

My hooded gaze falls to the blood running into the water and I mewl out a raspy sound of arousal, my balls throbbing with the tempo of pain from my wound.

Lem leans down and runs his lips through my blood. Then he drags them up my neck, onto my face. And he kisses me, smearing my own blood on my mouth.

This is what he wanted that time in the shower, after I killed O’Malley. But he was unsure… Until now.

“Fuck, baby,” I gasp as he grinds his cock into mine in the water. He’s as hard as a rock now. “You like when I bleed for you?”

“Yes,” he whimpers. He fucking whimpers… I’ve never heard him sound like this before.

I’ve gotten him close when he’s sucking the cum out of me.

Apparently, these are his kinks. Tasting blood and cum.

Jesus, this guy is just as fucked up as me. I’m in fucking love with him.

“More,” I grunt, hoarse and quaking all over with need.

He uses the blade to cut the underside of my pectoral this time. My voice trembles out soft cries of need as he groans in response, licking the blood that trickles from the wound. He runs his tongue up to my nipple, sucking it hard, his lips all red with my blood while he suckles at my peaked flesh like he’s trying to get something out of it. It feels so fucking good. And when he bites down, I flinch and sob.

“Taste me, Dr. Want,” I pant, gripping his dreadlocks in my fists. “I want to be inside you.”

He’s like an animal, grunting and growling, sucking and biting at me, licking my blood and smearing it all over my skin. He comes back up to my mouth, kissing me dizzy while rubbing his chest on mine, getting blood all over us both.

The taste of copper in our mouths is intoxicating. We’re both drunk and high on this. Dazed and sick and aroused as fucking hell.

“I want to eat you alive, Felix Darcey,” he snarls, trailing his mouth back down my throat, my chest, then my abs. The surrounding water is dull pink from the blood as he drags his lips along my body, murmuring, “Take this.” He shoves the straight razor at me, then lifts my hips out of the water.

Humming, I watch in anticipation while he kisses and sucks through the lines of my abs, then down my pelvis. He kisses everywhere, purposely ignoring my dick, which is stretched so hard it’s bobbing, aching, with a shiny head and veins all over. Lem’s eyes come back to mine and he flicks his tongue on the crown, but only once. Enough for me to leak before he goes back to teasing. He moves down my nuts, brushing them slowly with his full lips. Then he kisses my inner thighs, down my legs, nuzzling his face in the hair on my thighs, then calves.

I think this is a moment for him… One when he’s not only letting his inner psycho free, but also his inner bisexual. He’s allowing himself to worship my body, explore the places where I’m inherently male.

I have to admit, it’s turning me on like crazy. This arrow-straight older man cherishing me with his mouth and his tongue and his touch. It’s like my latent fantasy come true.

Lem sits back, pulling my foot out of the water. Then he runs his lips up the arch, tugging my leg between his, grinding his dick on the underside of my thigh while he pops my big toe into his mouth and sucks.

“Fuck…” I tremble from the awkward yet tickling sensation of it.

I’m not a foot guy at all, and I don’t think he is either. But there’s something about him wanting to kiss and lick and suck every single part of my body that has me quaking down to my core.

He groans out of pure animalistic hunger, lapping each of my toes before running my foot down his chest, and his abs. He presses it up to his dick and I mewl, watching him thrust his huge cock against my arch.

“God, baby, yes…” I gasp, out of breath and panting. “Use me. Use every piece of me.”

“Felix, you drive me crazy,” he whines, eyes drooping in the sheer intoxication of what we’re doing. “I was normal before you.”

“Sure.” I chuckle, and he grins lazily. “Keep telling yourself that.”

He drops my foot and growls, “Get on all fours. I’m eating the fuck outta your ass.”

I press my lips together to stifle my groan. He’s never done that to me before.

Flipping over, I get on my hands and knees in the tub, reddish water splashing around as he grabs my ass. He spreads me open and lets out a sigh, like he’s starving and finally sitting down to a gourmet meal. Then his tongue swipes over my asshole.

I hum and bite my lip. He does it again, slower this time, licking me gradually before kissing me right on the rim. His lips are like pillows, sucking at my asshole in between tracing it with his powerful tongue, around and around, in punishing circles.

“Goddammit, Felix…” he rasps, mouth buried in my ass. “You taste good everywhere. You’re so sweet, baby. Tight, sweet little hole.”

“Fuck me…” I urge my hips back, giving him my ass to devour, which he does. I’m so dizzy I can barely hold myself up, my cock leaking precum into the water while he growls filthy words directly inside my body.

“I could eat you for hours, baby. Days… I want to cum in your ass and eat it out, you sweet, sick little slut.”

“Lem,” I cry, all wound up and so needy I think I might collapse. “Please fuck me. I need you in me. Please.”

He huffs, prying himself away from my ass and flipping me back around. When our eyes meet, we stare at each other, breaths heaving, blood stains on our faces. We look like total psychos, and I’ve never been more in love, and more desperate to come.

Lem’s eyes drop to the blade in my hand. So do mine. And without another thought, I slice his chest. In the same spot he did mine.

He looks shocked, for all of two seconds, before he chokes out a jagged groan.

His blood trickles slowly down his body as he pleads, in a voice throaty with need, “Get on my cock, sick boy.”

“You’re so fucking sick,” I tell him gruffly, scrambling to straddle his hips.

“You’re evil.” He grabs my face, breathing over my lips. “Vile.”

“You’re fucking beautiful.” I fist his cock, which is now covered in his blood.

He grips my ass hard in his hands, spreading me open and helping me position myself.

“You are the most twisted, depraved… perfect fucking monster I’ve ever known.” He lashes my bottom lip with his tongue, guiding me down onto his cock.

My ass struggles to take him in at first. There’s no real lube in play, here. Only blood and water and precum and saliva. But it works. Because I want it.

My body relaxes enough to take him in, his head bursting into my ass. We both groan out loud, drenched in blood, our eyes never once leaving one another’s while I sink down farther onto his giant cock.

“God, fuck, Lemuel. Wear me like I’m yours.” I drop my face into the crook of his neck, sucking and biting on him.

“Take all of this swollen cock in your tight ass, you wicked thing.” He gets me seated with every inch buried so deep, I can feel all of him, pulsing with need.

He’s owning me with his cock. Possessing me.

I moan and whine, licking the scars on his throat. “Heal me. Fix me, Doctor.”

“I’ll fucking fix you, alright,” he growls, lifting me. “Ride my cock, Felix. Ride me like the evil slut you are.”

My movements are shaky as I lift up on wobbly knees, my ass crawling up his dick before swooping back down. We both grunt and groan, hands all over each other, our blood painting our chests as they rub together.

“You feel my blood in you, baby?” He sighs while I rock myself up and down on him. “All the way up in your ass?”

“Yes,” I gasp, leaning back a bit, developing a rhythm to ride him slowly. It feels fucking incredible. His cock stretching my ass, lancing at my prostate while I bounce up and down on his lap.

I probably look like such a manic slut right now, and I love it. Covered in blood and grinding my needy ass on every inch of his dick.

“Who owns this ass, baby?” He slaps it when I come up, and I clench.

“You, Dr. Love. You own my ass.”

“Mmm… Fuck me, Carver. Fucking ride my cock.”

The world is spiraling around us. Enjoy The Silence by Depeche Mode is playing background to the sounds of us fucking wild, red water splashing up around the sides of the tub.

“Look at this big, bloody cock,” Lem purrs, and my eyes fall to my dick between us, covered in his blood. Or mine… Probably both. He grabs it and strokes it to match my incessant humping. “Come for me, sweet monster. I wanna see this pretty dick pulse.”

I’m going out of my mind, riding him like a fiend while he jerks me off, my ass gripping him like a fist. My entire body is coiled tightly, wound around him like a vine. I can feel how tense he is, ready to erupt at any moment.

I want his come inside me. I need it.

The brightly shining euphoria of his big dick touching my prostate is almost too much. I’m bound in pleasure, strung up. Breathless and waiting…

“I’m…” I whimper as my head spins off my body. “I’m gonna… Baby baby baby…”

Lem grabs my face. “Your big dick gonna burst for me, sick boy?” I nod frantically. He kisses me and growls into my mouth, “Give me your orgasm, Carver. I want to own that, too.”

“Fuuuuck… It’s yours.” I tumble over the edge and my dick bursts. “It’s yours, it’s yours. It’s all… yours.”

Cum shoots from me, all the way up to our faces. I can feel it hitting my neck, then spraying all over our chests while Lem kisses me, swallowing up my moans. I’m gasping so hard, I can’t get enough oxygen, like I’ve been underwater for minutes. My desperate inhales are lined with wailing whines of the most intense climax of my existence.

“You’re fucking beautiful, baby,” he mumbles, fascination in his tone. “The most exquisite piece of evil. I…”

His voice cuts out quick, and I’m left perilously seeking his words while he grunts out a curse and mumbles, “I’m coming, Felix. I’m coming in your ass.”

“Come in my ass,” I beg, hazy and slouched against his chest while he pumps up into me so hard and deep, I’m sure his cum is going to shoot out of my mouth as he shoots off.

“Fuck yes, I’m coming in you. Take my load in your ass, sweet Carver, baby.”

“I’m taking it… Your monster is… taking it,” I gasp, another small spurt of cum leaking out of me at the feel of his dick pouring pulse after pulse of warmth inside me.

My ass tenses around him and he drops his forehead to mine, breathing on my mouth, “Squeeze my cock with that perfect hole.”

His mouth is so damn filthy, I’m losing my mind. And while I’m coming down from my high, listening to his wicked words, all I can think is…

I love you. I’m in love with you.

It’s playing on repeat in my brain. Different kinds of words than what’s spewing from his mouth, but still so insistent I have to chomp down on my lip to stop them from breaking free.

Lem fizzles down from his orgasm, and we stay wrapped around each other for minutes in silence. Just listening to his playlist of eighties music, which is exactly the same as the one I used to listen to when I was free.

The same exact songs I’d put on to flit around my apartment while eating Chinese food. Sometimes I’d dance with Want. Sometimes I would sing to whoever was still in the bathtub.

These songs hold so many memories for me, and here they are. Being played by the man with whom I am now in desperate, hopeless love.

“I can’t believe you like eighties music…” I allow myself to drawl sleepily.

Lem’s fingers run up and down my back, comforting me with his sated touch. “Why can’t you believe it? It makes more sense for me to listen to it than you. You’re basically a child.”

I chuckle, and I’m not sure how, but I can feel him smiling. “You never said anything when I told you I love Tears For Fears and Depeche Mode…”

“Because we weren’t talking about me.” He sighs, fingering the hair at the back of my neck. It feels life-affirming.

“Right. We’re always talking about me,” I mumble, forcing myself off of his chest so that I can look up at him. My eyes drop for a second. “Where are these from?” I ask hesitantly, my fingers brushing the uneven skin on his throat.

He blinks at me, and for a very brief moment, I see a scared boy. The person who received these scars…

But he covers it up quickly, jaw ticking. “We’re still not talking about me, Felix.”

“Why not?” I ask. “You’re not my doctor right now.”

“Yes, I am,” he says pointedly.

I gulp, not liking where this conversation is going. “But… you’re not only my doctor. Right…?”

He stares at me for what feels like an eternity. And suddenly I want to take it all back. I want to crawl into a corner and curl into a ball.

“No,” he breathes. And my dread retreats.

I know I shouldn’t push… But I can’t help it. “What are you?”

He takes my chin between his fingers. “I’m covered in your blood. Let’s get cleaned up.”

I knew I wouldn’t get anything out of him. I don’t even know why I tried.

Whatever. I don’t want that to ruin the mood, because that sex was unfuckingbelievable. Unparalleled by anything.

“Best orgasm ever,” I yawn, and Lem grins.

I really like how he doesn’t hide them as much now. They’re still rare, his little smiles and chuckles, but he’s becoming less stingy with them. It feels like a reward.

He grabs my hips to steady me. “I’m going to pull out, baby. But I want you to hold that cum inside you. Don’t spill a drop, understand?”

My tired dick flinches as I nod. Jesus, this man is a freak. It’s so hot, I might die.

Lem helps me up, pulling me off his softening cock. I clench as hard as I can, biting the inside of my cheek while my face heats under his gaze. I know he’s scrutinizing me, and he’s going to search for that cum in a minute, so I better not let any out.

We both stand up on shaky legs, glancing down at the water. It’s red. And I mean fucking red. We spilled a lot of blood in there, which reminds me.

I check the cuts on my chest. The X he made over my heart, like a pirate’s buried treasure. X marks the spot… The bleeding seems to have slowed, but it’s still bubbling up a bit. The one on Lem’s chest is still trickling.

“I’ll clean them up after we shower,” he tells me, confident in his words.

It makes me feel sort of precious, the way he cares for me now, after we fool around. In the prison he wasn’t like that… He would sort of toss me away when we were done, I guess because he was afraid of what it meant. But now, it’s different. We’re different.

I just wish he’d admit it. I don’t want him to run from me like everyone else does.

He helps me out of the tub and I wince at the feeling of cum wanting to drip out of me. Then he brings me to the large shower stall and we get inside, turning on the warm water.

I’m fidgeting in place. I don’t think I can hold on for much longer when he says, “Turn around. Let me see.”

I spin and bend at the waist.

“Spread,” he commands. My face is on fire with shame as I pull my ass cheeks apart. “You can let go now, baby.”

I do, and he watches his cum drip out of me. I’m humiliated, but much to my own chagrin, my dick is hardening, which means I must like it.

I feel special… Praised by his inspection, his possessive gaze. Actually, I love it.

Lem comes up behind me, running his thumb over my asshole, stuffing it inside me. Stuffing the cum back in. I gasp and he groans.

“You are so goddamn sexy, Felix,” he whispers, dropping a kiss on my back. “Turn around and face me.”

I do as he says, and he immediately presses me up against the wall of the shower. His eyes glisten, holding some emotions I can’t quite place as he stares at me, our warm, blood-stained bodies zipped up.

He urges his mouth to mine, kissing me, sensually; with a passion I’ve never experienced before him. Beneath the spray of the water, with our lips locked, the traces of our evil are washed clean. We’re purified together, like a baptism.

But my sins can never truly be washed away like the blood on our skin. I know that.

I just hope that my damnation won’t take him away from me. That he won’t leave just like everyone does, because it doesn’t make sense for them to love me.

I don’t deserve love… do I?

With everyone who came before him, I loved the idea of keeping them more than I actually loved them. I’m not so sure that’s the case anymore…

Because this man, this deeply complex, intelligent, gorgeous human, is the Want I’ve always dreamed of. With real flesh, and warm blood in his veins that dribbles when I cut him…

He’s perfect, and that’s terrifying, because I know he’ll leave me.

I know I don’t deserve Love.

Uncertainty makes me itch.

I’ve always craved order. Since I was fourteen and I ran, panting, heart racing, up from the basement of an empty house, my wrists and my throat burning and raw.

After that moment, I knew I needed to be in control of everything. I could never let anyone view me as a slacking, haphazard person.

Never become a target again.

So when things are up in the air, outside of my ability to grasp them in my palm and squeeze them into submission, I feel tense and icky. My skin crawls and I find it hard to catch a proper breath.

I’m making my way to Johansson’s office so we can chat, per his request. He’s been calling me for the past couple of days, pestering me about Felix and his studies.

This meeting is pointless. I already know what his issue is. He’s bent out of shape because he hasn’t had as much access to Felix lately for his experiments. He said it to me on the phone the other night.

He thinks my relationship with Felix is interfering with his research, as well as my own. He didn’t say it outright on the phone, but I read between the lines.

The thing is that I know he’s right, but I refuse to admit it. Because I’m not having a relationship with Felix. This is just work…

Regardless of how spectacularly destructive it’s been… How wonderfully wrong, and beautifully inconvenient it’s all become between us… It’s still just a job. And when I complete my assignment, I’ll leave.

I’ll… leave.

My stomach flip-flops, but I ignore it, purposely not glancing in the direction of the row of cells where Felix is currently locked up tight. I put him back down there the morning after our intense night together in the bloody bathtub. But that was days ago, and I haven’t seen him since.

I haven’t gone to his cell at night, when everything is quiet like I had been for days before, and I haven’t plucked him out of his cell. I haven’t brought him for a walk through the woods with our fingers linked. I haven’t snuck him into the Ivory Mansion, crept upstairs to my bedroom and fucked him senseless.

We haven’t slept wrapped up in each other in days… I haven’t woken up with him burning me alive, rutting his ass against my crotch, or with his heavy arm strewn over my waist, soft breaths and a little drool on my chest as he sleeps peacefully.

He’s so calm while he sleeps; the slumber of someone without a care in the world. As if he hasn’t murdered dozens of people, and isn’t locked away indefinitely in a rotting prison for it. I can’t help but wonder if it’s because of me that he’s sleeping so soundly. Is it because I make him feel comfortable? Safe?

Or is it just because he’s a sociopath, and he doesn’t worry about anything?

It really doesn’t matter, but the point is that regardless of The Ivory warning me to get Felix out of his home, I couldn’t help myself. I continued to bring him home with me every night, because I wasn’t thinking. I’ve been hypnotized by the chemistry between us… So overwhelming, I can’t even fathom where it came from or how it’s possible. And the sex. God, the mind-numbing, spine-tingling, ball-bursting sex… I’ve never had anything like it. And I’ve had hot sex before.

Lots of it. Casual flings with women met in dark rooms, shared kinks explored, and power wielded over their bodies.

Yet none of it even comes close to what I do with Felix. It doesn’t hold a candle to the feeling of his material treasuring mine, his soft lips and smooth skin and his mouthwatering taste. His carved muscles, sharp stubble in between shaves… His big dick.

I mean, seriously. Since when do I like dick?? I really have no idea how or why this came about, but Felix’s dick pops into my head at least once every fifteen minutes or so, and I’m baffled by it.

I’m a straight man, a doctor of the human mind, entranced by the cock of a murderous maniac. Life is going well for me.

Either way, I had to shut it down. No matter how much I’d love to keep Felix in my bed at all times, I had to stop bringing him to the mansion when Johansson started whining. It’s just too much heat for right now. We need to cool down… Take some time apart so I can figure out what’s going on between us.

This whole thing is really throwing me off my game, and I just need some time to clear my head.

Unease settles in my gut as I knock on Johansson’s office door, letting myself in. As usual, he’s seated behind his desk, and Templeton is standing by the bookshelf. But this time there’s a man I don’t recognize on the couch where Figueroa usually sits.

Waltzing over, casually disguising my frustration, I pull out a chair opposite Johansson and take a seat. I can feel all of their eyes on me, but I keep my face still, bored.

“Dr. Love.” Johansson says my name with much less enthusiasm than usual, gesturing to the man on the couch. He’s on the young side, maybe forty-ish, with dark hair slicked back, clean-shaven. Attractive, I suppose, if you’re looking at him that way. “This is Dr. Arvin Hassan. He’s here filling in, what with Abel’s transfer and all…”

I nod, unenthused. “Lemuel Love.”

“I’ve heard great things, Doctor.” Dr. Hassan offers a curt smile. “I’m a Johns Hopkins alumni myself.”

My brows lift. “Are you…”

He nods. “I believe I was a few years before you. But I know you must have studied under Dr. Ricker…”

“Yea, of course,” I huff, pleased at the mention of one of my favorite professors. “He’s still going strong, from what I understand.”

“He’ll never retire.” Hassan chuckles. “Too stubborn.”

“You’re right about that,” I agree. I won’t say I trust this guy just because we share an alma mater, but he seems decent enough. My eyes move to Johansson, who’s just watching us in silence with a blank face. “So… what can I do for you, Jarvis?”

Johansson purses his lips. “I’ve spoken with Manuel. We’re in agreement to move forward on some aggressive techniques with Felix. Now that he’s back here for good.”

My teeth grind so hard my jaw hurts. “And what kinds of techniques would those be?”

Johansson glances at Templeton. “Lemuel, look. You know no one respects you more than I do. I’ve been following your career for quite some time, and your research here with Felix has been impeccable. That said, in the last couple of weeks, it seems that you may have… lost track of the objective.”

“Are you fucking serious?” I seethe quietly.

“I’m not saying these things to accuse you. I’m bringing this up to remind you that we all have a job to do here. We all utilize controversial methods. It’s the name of our game. But, you know… within reason.”

“What exactly are you trying to say, Jarvis?” I lean forward, glowering at him. “Stop dancing around it and get to the point.”

Johansson shifts. “You’re letting him get into your head.”

“I am not.” I scoff. “That’s bullshit.”

“You brought him home with you.” Templeton’s voice slinks into my ear and my face springs in his direction. “For days on end… you’ve been shacking up with him in the name of behavioral research.” He huffs, shaking his head. “It’s a nice theory, but there are ways to get what you’re getting without allowing a serial killer to sleep in your bed with you.”

“Yea, we all know about your methods, you perverted fuck,” I hiss at him.

“Alright, let’s just take it easy here.” Johansson sighs, but I throw a hand up at him, my glare locked on the Scottish prick by the bookshelf.

“No. Fuck that. Let’s lay it all on the table.” My head slants. “I don’t fucking like you, Templeton. I think you’re a smug, self-righteous embarrassment to the profession.” Templeton’s eyes harden as he fumes in my direction. But I’m not done. “I looked into you, you know. You were almost kicked out of the University of Edinburgh for behavioral misconduct. Experimenting on undergrads under the university’s radar…”

“That was a lapse in judgment,” he grumbles. “They were all consenting…”

“I’m sure they were,” I mutter sarcastically. “But the fact remains. I don’t trust you with Felix. I don’t trust you not to fuck him up, or ruin him in some way in the name of your misguided research.”

“Doctor, we’re all here for research,” Johansson butts back in. “Felix isn’t your personal property. And your concern should be on what we stand to gain from him, rather than on him.”

“He’s my patient.” My fist clenches over and over at my side, rage building inside me like Tetris.

“Patient. Not boyfriend,” Templeton mumbles.

I see red. Standing up fast, I shove my chair out of the way with a loud scrape. “You got something to say, you ginger-haired motherfucker?” I stomp up to Templeton as he straightens.

I don’t stop until I’m an inch from his face. He’s not backing down, and it’s making me want to level him. I’m not one to get into physical altercations, but I’ve been boxing in the gym for years. If this asshole wants to keep talking shit, I will have no problem wasting him.

“Your time here is up, Love.” Templeton speaks calmly, far too smug for my liking. “Time for you to go back to your life. Leave Felix with me.” He smirks. “Don’t worry… I’ll take care of him.”

I lunge at him, and immediately Johansson and Hassan are holding me back while I roar in the Scot’s face, “I’ll lay your ass out, you hear me?! You touch him again, and you’re dead!”

“Doctor, enough!” Johansson gripes, struggling to keep me in check.

As much as I want to dive on that asshole and mash his face into the floor, I force myself to close my eyes and take a breath.

“Get off me.” I shrug out of their hold, stalking toward the door.

“Doctor! Lemuel… we’re going to treat him! Whether you like it or not.” Johansson’s voice echoes, but I’m already out of the office, storming up the hallway.

I need to get the fuck away from these fools before I really lose control.

I slam my way through the doors of the East Wing, back to my office, all the while mentally scolding myself. I can’t believe I just exploded like that…

I’ve never behaved this way with colleagues before. And sure, those guys are on the darker shade of morally gray, especially for doctors. But still, that is the nature of this place. This job, and the research I’m doing here. Research I’ve been dying for since med school. Even before that… Since I was a teenager.

Working with someone like Felix Darcey, learning from him, has always been the dream I’ve chased. And now that I have it, I’m fucking blowing it.

I’m fucking my patient. I’ve also never done that before…

The first time I ever cross that unethical line and I do it with The Carver…?

What the fuck is wrong with me??

Stomping into my office, I bash the door with a roar, backing up against it. I cover my face with my hands and try to remember to breathe. But counting to ten isn’t working this time. My head is all fucked up.

I’ve never let emotions out in front of strangers before. I’ve never been so possessive of a patient I’ve only known for a few weeks…

I’ve never had such a strong urge inside me to protect someone. To keep him under glass, like a rare and precious flower. Why do I feel this way??

What is it about this patient, Felix fucking Darcey, that’s turning my entire world upside down??

Whatever it is, I can’t have it. I don’t behave this way.

John Douglas would be ashamed.

My mind is blazing with thoughts as I stalk over to my desk and pick up the walkie I use to contact the guards quickly. Pressing the button, I bark, “Someone bring Felix Darcey to my office right now.”

Tossing it down, I pace around the room for minutes on end. They tick by so goddamn slow, each one of them jacking up the tension in my veins; the anger and confusion and distress. It’s all weaving its way around my muscles until I’m seething.

And then there’s a knock on the door.

Peters comes in, hauling Felix along. He’s in a straitjacket, shackled at the ankles. But when Peters goes to remove the shackles, I grunt, “Leave them.”

Peters gives me a look. Then peeks at Felix, whose forehead is lined with concern.

“Okay, then,” Peters mumbles and leaves my office, closing the door behind him.

My heated glare is locked on Felix as he blinks at me. “You’re really not gonna let me out of this stuff?”

“No.” I motion toward the couch. “Go sit.”

Felix looks worried and confused. “Is everything okay…?”

“Sit down, Felix,” I growl.

He swallows visibly, shuffling his way to the couch, chains clanking as he goes. He takes a seat, strapped up in the straitjacket, appearing all manners of uncomfortable. But I don’t care about that. I’ve made him more than comfortable in the short time I’ve known him. That was mistake number one.

I thought it would get him to open up to me, help me with the work. Instead, it made him think we were friends. Or potential lovers.

I need to shut this shit down.

Walking over to the chair, I take a seat, pressing record on my phone and dropping it onto the table with a thunk.

Felix’s eyes are wide as he gapes at me. “Are you sure you’re alright…? You seem—”

“We’re not talking about me, Felix,” I cut him off sternly. “You’re the patient and I’m the doctor.”

His brows knit. “What the fuck, Lem?? I don’t see you for days, and when you finally call me in, you’re acting like…”

“Acting like what?” I squint at him.

“Like an asshole,” he huffs.

“Well, it turns out all I needed was some time away from you.” I let the words slip out into the air. And once they’re out there, they’re all I can hear. It makes me feel sick, but I push past it as best I can.

Felix looks stunned; hurt. Like I just shot him out of nowhere. “Why are you being like this?” I say nothing, simply stare at him while he becomes a bit jittery. “Is it about the girls in your phone…? Are you getting back with them?”

I give him a confused look. “What girls? What are you talking about?”

He glances at his lap. “I looked through your phone and saw your texts. Your exes were messaging you…”

The explosion of things that happens inside me from hearing this is overwhelming as hell. I’m outraged, but also sort of flattered. Intrigued, it sort of makes me swoon for a moment. But then I lock that up, replacing it with annoyance, denial, and more hostility.

“My relationships are none of your concern, Felix,” I croak, then clear my throat. “Neither is what I choose to do when I leave this island.”

His eyes widen as he struggles against the fabric of the straitjacket. “Wait… leave? Why would you leave??”

My face is stone still. I have to force it to stay that way. “It’s inevitable. My research with you has plateaued. I’m not sure how much else I can learn from you, and it’s getting too complicated.”

The look on his face is making me want to throw up, but I swallow it down.

“No… No no no. Wait. I have more.” He gasps frantically, breathing raggedly, like he might hyperventilate. “I can give you more. Whatever it takes, just don’t… don’t go.”

My fingers are digging into my thigh so hard I’m going to bruise myself. “Like what? What more can you tell me…?”

He pauses for a moment, chewing on his lower lip. “I can tell you about some of the missing bodies. The victims the cops couldn’t locate…”

“That doesn’t interest me,” I rumble. “I’m not conducting an investigation.”

“Okay, well, what do you want to know? Anything… I’ll tell you anything.” His lips are shivering. I can see it from where I’m sitting, and it reminds me of the times that I’ve kissed him.

How soft his lips feel on mine, how plump and juicy they are, and how excited he gets when I bite them. The breathy sounds that have flowed between us when we’re lost in lust thicker than a fog over the moors.

Blinking hard, I shake it away. I can’t. I cannot have feelings for him.

Felix Darcey is not boyfriend material. He’s a narcissistic sociopath who’s murdered more people than Jack the fucking Ripper.

Leaning forward in my seat, I lock my furious glare on his stormy gray eyes. “Tell me more about what you felt when you killed them.”

His lashes flutter nervously. “O-okay.” He nods. “Sure. Um… well, I used to use my hands to strangle them, but it’s really hard. I would end up bashing in their skulls eventually because my hands would get tired.”

My heart thumps and I grind my teeth. “But you preferred strangulation? Why?”

“Because stabbing and bludgeoning make a mess,” he says simply. He’s told me this before, but I’m reaching.

“So, what did you use? Aside from your hands?”

“Zip ties,” he says calmly. “Plastic bags, belts, wire. Really anything that was nearby. Zip ties are easiest. You can just zip it quick, and there’s no way for them to get out of it.”

My eyes are dry from not blinking in a while. “And you watched them while you did this?”

He gives me a puzzled look. “Yes…”

“You just sat back and watched while human beings struggled to breathe… They tossed and turned, writhed and squirmed around… like you do when you’re turned on and ready to get fucked.” His face instantly flushes. My pulse is leaping, but I keep going. Keep pushing. “You just stood there and watched them die.”

He blinks, silent for a moment, before he mutters, “Well… yea.”

“And how did that make you feel?” I growl.

“I…” he stutters, “I didn’t really feel anything.”

I glare at him. “Nothing.”

He shrugs. “Sometimes it would turn me on… Usually I would hold them. I would rest my head over their hearts and listen…”

“Waiting for it to stop,” I whisper, fascinated. Disgusted and so goddamn mesmerized.

My stomach rolls. This is the man I’m developing feelings for?? I can’t. I can’t have feelings for him. He’s a monster.

He might try to kill me.

A chill zips up my spine and darkness flashes in my mind.

Struggling against the restraints. Pushing and fighting, straining to break free.

My fingers absentmindedly lift to the scars on my throat.

“If you’re trying to find remorse in me, you know it’s not there,” he seethes, and I snap back to reality. “I am a monster, Lem. I know it and you know it. Why is this a problem all of a sudden??”

“Because you’re sick, Felix,” I sigh. My heart is tired. “And I don’t want you to infect me.”

His eyes round and glisten, chin wobbling in his obvious suffering. But he covers it up with animosity. “Fuck you.”

I stand up fast. Because I can’t fucking sit here and look at him like that anymore. I can’t see his face. This is too much.

Rushing over to my desk, I go for the walkie. I need to get him out of here.

“What the fuck… stop!” he barks, jumping up. He almost topples over from the chains around his ankles as he darts over to me. “Don’t call them. Not yet. Don’t make me leave!”

“Felix, I’m done,” I mutter, picking up the walkie.

Before I can press the button, he hip-checks me and it goes flying onto the floor.

I glare at him. “What the fuck is this? You’re going to fight me into letting you stay?? What’s the point?”

“I don’t know what happened between the other day and now, but this doesn’t make any sense.” He breathes unsteadily, wedging his way in front of me. “You’re fucking running because you’re scared, and it’s pathetic.”

I lean over him. “You think I’m pathetic?”

“I think you’re scared… of how much you like being with me,” he croaks. “Of being like me.”

“I am nothing like you, Felix,” I teem in his face.

Something flashes through his eyes, and he turns red. “Yes, you are! Admit it! You’re twisted like me, and it scares you.”

“You’re a serial killer!” I roar.

“Yea, and you love it!” he shouts. “You might not be a killer, but you have feelings for one.”

I grab him by the throat. “Shut the fuck up.”

“See what I mean?” He gasps, then presses his hips into mine. “You’re hard right now. You want to choke me, don’t you, Lem?”

“Of course I’m hard,” I hiss. “I’m standing next to a little slut who loves having his ass ridden raw.” I grind him aggressively into my desk and he whines. “And it’s Dr. Love.”

“Should be Dr. Fear.” His lips tremble through his words. “’Cause you’re afraid of love.”

Something in me snaps.

The control I’ve been clutching like hell, that’s been hanging by a thread all day, slips through my fingers and I erupt like a volcano of hatred, lust, anger, confusion… fear. All of those things and then some.

I roar in Felix’s face and flip him around, shoving him forward with a hand on his back until he’s bent over my desk. In the blink of an eye, I have his pants and boxers down around his thighs and I’m unbuckling my belt.

“Lem…” Felix’s voice quavers.

But I can’t hear him. I whip my tie off and stuff it into his mouth. “No talking, you sick fuck.”

I get my dick out, and it’s so hard it’s leaking. I spit into my hand a few times, lubing it up as much as I can with just that. It’ll have to be enough, and if it’s not, I don’t care.

I’ve gone out of my mind.

My movements are frantic and twitchy as I push my slick head up to his asshole and he groans around the obstruction in his mouth. Sliding my belt free from the loops, I fold it and smack it hard against his ass cheek.

I swing to hit him again, the muffled sound of his sobs echoing, but not loud enough to overpower my heavy breathing, or my heart pounding in my ears. I whip him on the ass with my belt several times… Honestly, I haven’t been counting, but I think it’s at least ten. Felix’s ass is red, torn up and about to bleed.

I spit on my dick once more, dropping the belt and spreading his cheeks open to spit on his hole.

“This is what you deserve, Carver,” I hiss, shoving my dick into his ass.

I don’t give him time to adjust. I just make sure the spit is working as lube for a second, but then thrust every inch inside him.

He cries with my tie in his mouth while I pump in and out of him, rough and fast, working myself into a trance. Furious longing burns in my veins like acid while I fuck Felix hard against my desk, my balls bumping into his with my deep, damaging thrusts. I kick his legs apart as far as they’ll go, the shackles preventing him from spreading wide, but I make do.

The slap slap slap of me pounding him as hard as humanly possible rings through the room, my grunts and his whimpers whipping up in my head. I’m dizzy, devoid of all control, watching myself from somewhere far away.

I just can’t get back.

My orgasm is fast approaching… I know in some far-off corner of my mind that I’ve missed him. I’ve missed him desperately for days, with my body.

My heart.

But I push that away and keep rutting into him, driving my cock deep and pulling it back, only to lash back in again. Leaning over him, I grab his hair, whipping his head back.

“Does it hurt, sick boy?” I whisper in his ear, voice snapping with the urgent need to come. He nods fast. “Do you like it?”

He nods again with tears in his eyes.

“Will you come from the pain?” I ask him, sucking desperately on the soft flesh of his neck. I bite him and he mewls. “Because it’s me fucking you, rough and angry, the way you deserve to be fucked?”

“Mmm-mmm,” he mumbles and nods, lashes fluttering, his glasses almost sliding off his face from my rampant thrusts.

“Good boy,” I growl. “I’m gonna fill you, Felix. And I want you coming in your pants while I empty into you, okay?”

He nods, eyes rolling back as I shove his face down forcefully into the desk. I press him down hard, bucking into him, riding his ass rough until I crack right down the middle. And I let out a jagged groan while I come violently into his ass.

My hands rush all over him, gripping the straitjacket as my dick blows off, balls contracting. My entire body is numb. I can’t even process what just happened.

Dropping my forehead onto his back, I catch my breath while Felix whines and whimpers. I reach between his legs and rub his balls, immediately feeling the wetness all over from his orgasm.

“Felix…” I sigh. “I…”

No. Stop.

Whatever I was going to say… I can’t. I check myself and pull out of him, yanking his pants up fast. Stuffing my dick away, I straighten up, reaching for the walkie on the floor.

“Someone come get inmate #89,” I grunt, tossing it down.

Felix is standing up, shaky and disheveled. I yank the tie out of his mouth, shoving it into my desk drawer. Then I rush to the table to grab the phone, stopping the recording. Clearing my throat, I take a seat. My eyes stay on my phone for the entire ten minutes it takes for Peters to get here, and remove Felix from my office.

I can’t look at him.

I fucked up.

I acknowledge it. I’m not too proud to say I made a massive mistake. Which I did.

A big, gargantuan fuck-up.

I’ve been in the mansion for hours. After my disaster of a day in Alabaster Penitentiary, I immediately went straight home. I took a long shower and tried forcing myself to eat, though my appetite was gone. It must have vanished with my fucking manners.

And now I’ve just been lounging around in my feelings, trying to watch TV, but I can’t focus on anything happening on the screen.

All I can see is Felix’s face, when I told him I didn’t want him to infect me.

Or the state I left his ass in.

I’m such a fucking piece of shit.

I can’t even believe I did that to him. Regardless of my own shit I’m trying to deal with, it isn’t his fault. The only thing he’s done—to me directly—is express interest in me.

You know it’s more than that, fool. He has feelings for you… strong ones.

I cringe and yank at my dreads. A serial killer is in love with me. What am I supposed to do about this?? Where did it all go wrong?

I know the answer to that one. When I agreed to take this fucking job.

A phone rings, and I reach over for my work phone on the nightstand. But it’s blank.

Glancing up, my eyes go to my desk. It must be my regular phone…

I get up and wander over, opening the drawer and picking up my cell phone. It’s Callahan calling. Sighing out loud, I swipe to ignore. I’m not supposed to have contact with people while I’m on this job. It was one of the Warden’s stipulations that I actually took seriously. Mainly because I was using this job as a bit of a vacation from my regular life. And apparently it worked…

I came here and entered into a gay relationship with a murderer. If that isn’t a vacation from reality, then I don’t know what is.

Thinking about Felix makes my chest ache. The sadness in his eyes. The pained breaths that came from him when I was fucking him into the desk… I know he got off, but that isn’t the point. I treated him poorly, and I need to apologize.

Fuck space. Fuck distance. I just need to see him. I need—

My phone starts ringing again. It’s Callahan. Again. Go away, man. I’m busy.

Swiping to ignore once more, I stuff the phone into my pocket. I don’t have time for whatever he wants right now. I need to do something first.

I leave my room quickly, making my way downstairs. Grabbing a few containers of leftover Chinese food, I heat them up, then pack them into a paper bag. And I’m out.

Kent isn’t around, so I hop into one of the SUVs and drive myself back to the prison. And when I get there, I make a beeline straight for Felix’s cell.

When I get there, I find him lying on his stomach on the floor, which looks odd. But then I remember his ass, all red and raw from my belt, and my gut flops out onto the dingy concrete.

Such a piece of garbage.

Swallowing my guilt-laden insecurities, I unlock the door. His face springs up at the sound, and when he sees it’s me, there’s an elaborate mixture of relief, fright, and fury in his gray eyes.

I step inside slowly. “Felix…”

“You seem to forget that I could kill you,” he growls. “And that I’d totally enjoy doing it, too.”

“I know. I know that.” I nod, stepping over to him. “But I also know you won’t.”

His brows lift while he sits up, wincing as he does. “Do you really?”

“Well, not one hundred percent…”

He purses his lips like he’s trying not to smile.

I plop down onto my knees in front of him. “Baby… I’m sorry.”

He stares at me in silence for a moment, forehead lined before his gaze falls and he mutters, “Fuck off.”

I reach for his jaw and he flinches. It feels like being stabbed between the ribs. “I’m serious. You didn’t deserve that.”

“No shit,” he sniffs, eyes jumping back up to mine. “What the hell happened to you? You’re like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”

“I was an asshole.” I run my thumb along his lower lip. “Let me make it up to you.”

He blinks at me. “I’d say hell no, but I smell Chinese food.”

An uncontrollable grin, the kind only Felix is responsible for, pulls at my lips. “Chicken broccoli and shrimp fried rice.”

“Yum,” he whispers.

“Come here.” I stand, helping him up. Then I reach around him, undoing the laces on his straitjacket. He leans his head into me, and my heart freaking swells.

I’m filled with nerves… I still am. I’m confused about what’s happening between us, just like I have been since day one. But it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t think I could walk away from this if I tried.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, but for right now, I get him free. Then I take his hand in mine and bring him out of the cell, picking up my bag of food on the way out. And we walk to my office.

Opening the door for him, he saunters inside, stretching his arms behind his back. “I was hoping we’d go back to the mansion…”

I close the door and lock it. “The couch will have to do. Sorry, babe.”

He bites his lip. “I’m still mad, but you can keep calling me that if you want.”

A laugh comes out of me. It just bursts from my lips. “You like babe?”

“Truthfully, you could call me anything and I’d be alright with it.” His brow arches. “Even sick fuck.”

Huffing, I shake my head, dropping off the food on the table before rushing to him. I take his face in my hands and force him to look at me. “I’m so sorry for earlier, Felix. I didn’t mean it…”

“Yes, you did.” His throat dips. “It’s okay. I know what I am…”

“I know, but that doesn’t make it right. The way I treated you… it was abhorrent. I’m sick over my behavior, baby.”

He gives me a look like I’m insane. “But I’m a murderer, Lem. I kill people… And I don’t even feel bad about it. Everything you said to me was true.”

“Yea, I know,” I breathe. “But does that mean you deserve to be used and tossed aside like garbage?” He makes a face that says, maybe… “Well, I guess that remains to be seen. But I don’t want to treat you that way. Because I think you’re amazing. Honest to God… I’m amazed by you.”

He places a palm flat on my chest, over the cut he made that’s just beginning to heal. “You only like me because I’m fucked up. I’m like a lab creation… something twisted and unnatural you keep in chains. You’re not supposed to care for that thing, Lem.”

“I know you’re not supposed to…” I whisper. But I think I do…

He shakes his head again, face decorated in duress. “I’m just saying, none of it matters. We could never… be together.” His eyes widen as he gapes at me. “I mean… if you wanted that. Which I’m not saying you do…”

I pout at him, because he’s so fucking cute, then press my lips to his in a sweet kiss. One that isn’t demanding of anything. It’s just a kiss for Felix, because I think he needs one.

“I’m a monster.” His voice trembles. “And you’re not. You’re a regular person.”

“I’m far from regular,” I hum, amused. “What you were saying to me earlier was right. I am fucked up. Not as much as you, but I have secrets, too…”

Our gazes absorb one another before his falls to my throat. I swallow hard.

“Come sit with me,” I insist softly, pulling him over to the couch.

He takes a gentle seat, and I sit right next to him, with our thighs touching. In this moment, I just want to talk to him. Not to examine him, not to get answers. I want to listen to him speak because I like his voice, and his words are the most interesting things I’ve ever heard. And I want to tell him things… Because I think he deserves that much.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” I lean back, slinking my arm around his waist.

He’s stiff for a moment before he gives in and nestles up to my side, pulling his knees up onto the couch. “Should I be worried?”

I grin and kiss his hair, savoring the scent. Even with being back to the prison showers, he smells incredible. I’m beginning to think it’s just him.

“What would you do if you saw Cameron again?” I ask him curiously. He stills, his face tipping upward. “I mean, how would you feel…?” I brush my fingers along his jaw. “Do you think… Are you still in love with him?”

At first, he looks like he has no earthly idea how to answer the question. He chews on his lip for a moment in thought before he shakes his head. “Honestly, I’m not sure that I ever was in love with Cam. I mean, I did love him, but he became a symbol for me. A talisman… He represented what I always thought I wanted. The perfect boy for me…” He takes in a breath, staring at me in a way that feels very heavy. “But you wanna know something?”

“Always.”

“I haven’t even thought about him in weeks.” He grins reticently then shakes his head. “I used to think about him all the time, but lately he’s been fizzling out of my thoughts. And I think I know why…” We stare at each other for many weighted seconds before he adds, “Why do you ask? Are you jealous?”

I laugh. “You mean like you going through my phone? Nah. I’m not that crazy.”

He gasps in faux outrage. “Excuse me! I’m the sanest serial killer you’ve ever met, remember?”

I chuckle and pull his mouth to mine. “Yea… you are.” Kissing him softly, I mumble, “I want to tell you something… About me.”

He rips his mouth away from mine and gawks at me. “But, Lemuel, I know so much about you already.”

I roll my eyes. “If you keep acting up, you don’t get the secrets. Or the food.”

“Sorry, Doctor,” he sighs through his smile. “I’ll behave. Seriously, though… You can tell me anything.”

Sucking in a deep breath, I consider what I’m about to say. Something I’ve never said out loud to anyone.

“When I was fourteen, I was abducted.” I speak the words; my truth. I’m telling Felix Darcey my past. “I was drugged, and I woke up in the basement of an empty house. I was tied to a support beam by my neck with rope so tight I was suspended, my feet barely touching the ground. My wrists and ankles were also bound.”

Felix’s eyes have never been wider as he stares at me, shocked but also clearly invested. “Holy shit.”

“Yea. My head was all foggy when I first woke up, but as I came to, I realized the rope was weak enough that I could try to stretch it. Enough to get my hands or feet free. But I had to push myself forward to do it, putting more pressure on my throat. That’s where the scars came from.” I open my collar wider, then hold up my wrists. “They were second degree rope burns.”

“But so… obviously you managed to escape,” Felix says, the hopefulness in his tone making me want to laugh. He isn’t glad that his last victim escaped… It’s funny to think that he’s happy I escaped my captor.

“I did.” I nod. “The man responsible came in as I was trying to wiggle free. He…” I stop and close my eyes, remembering to breathe.

Felix turns, sitting almost on my lap as he touches my face. “Hey… You don’t have to tell me everything. You’ve given me enough—”

“No, it’s fine,” I mumble, placing my hands on his waist, keeping him where he is. “The man who did this… His name was Stephen Love. He’s my uncle.”

Felix gasps, lips parted while he just stares at me.

I clear my throat. “Turns out, this was his thing. After I got free and went to the police, it came out within our family that he’d kidnapped, raped, and tortured seven other teenage boys. Even killed one, though we never found out where the body was.”

“Jesus fucking Christ…”

“Mhm.” I shift, running my hands up Felix’s back. Touching him really seems to relax me. “I can’t believe I’m even saying these words out loud.” I huff and shake my head.

“So he was caught?” he asks.

My jaw clenches. “No. No, he wasn’t. You see, my family are all doctors. Respectable members of the community. Their reputations are everything to them… So when they found out what had happened, that my uncle, my own flesh and blood, had drugged my lemonade when I was over his house mowing his lawn, they made the conscious decision to cover it up.”

“What?!” Felix barks.

My lips quirk at how cute he is. “Yep. My grandfather knew the police commissioner and the district attorney. They swept it all under the rug. Specifically never informed authorities about the murder, knowing that without a body it wouldn’t be an issue. They sent my uncle to a facility in Chicago for a year, but after that, he got out. He was free, and he has been for decades.”

Felix looks like he’s torn between wanting to cry or kill for me. It’s amazing… This man, the sociopath, who killed thirty-seven people without feeling a thing, cares about something that happened to me twenty years ago. He fucking cares… and it’s astonishing.

My own family doesn’t give enough of a fuck to be outraged.

Sliding my hands up his throat, I murmur, “So you see, Felix… Yes, you’re a lunatic. You’re a psychopath and a vicious killer without remorse, and you fully deserve to be locked away. But there are people walking around free every day who have done the same things, or worse. You’re just a human being, we all are. Evil doesn’t exist. It’s only the reality of the world’s chaos. And we just keep spinning.”

He gawks at me, a little sound escaping between his lips. “You wrote that book… didn’t you?” I blink at him. “Beneficial Brainwashing. You wrote it… You’re Dr. Strange!”

I can’t help the massive grin that hijacks my mouth, and I have to chuckle at the look on his face. “I’m honestly surprised you didn’t catch onto that sooner.”

“Well, yea.” He shakes his head. “The book is lousy with Love.”

I snort. “That’s so stupid.”

“Thanks.” He grins. “No, seriously, though! What the hell?! The book is great, by the way.”

I’m really trying to smother the smiles of a crazy person on my lips. “Can you figure out how I got the name Dr. Strange? And no, it’s not a Marvel thing.”

Felix makes a face. “No shit.” He goes quiet for a moment before his head tilts and his eyes bug out. “Ooh! The Depeche Mode song, Strangelove! You’re Strange, and Love.” A laugh rumbles from me. “And Melvin could be Mel… and Mel backwards is Lem. Holy shit, I’m awesome.”

I can’t stop chuckling. “You get a gold star.”

“Is that all?” he hums, pressing a slow kiss on my lips. When we pull apart, breathless, he plucks at one of my dreads. “Thank you for telling me your story. I’m sure it’s not easy to talk about.”

“I never speak about it.” I sigh, amusement falling away. “I haven’t spoken to Stephen since the day I kicked him in the nuts and ran from that basement like my life depended on it. I thought my parents hadn’t spoken with him either, but when I was at their house last month, I found a piece of mail from him.”

“What was it?”

I shrug. “Not sure. I didn’t read it.”

“You should have. Fuck that,” Felix grumbles. “And fuck your parents for being pieces of shit.”

Unable to stop myself, I launch at him, kissing him hard enough to surprise him with the dedication of my lips on his. I know this isn’t right, what we’re doing together. I don’t understand it one bit, but I feel things for Felix Darcey that I’ve never felt for anyone before him.

And some twisted part of me is desperate to be the last man he falls in love with. The one he doesn’t kill.

I’m shivering with the severity of what’s happening in my chest as I murmur on his mouth, “You wouldn’t hurt me, Felix.” He whimpers and shakes his head doubtfully. But I keep going. “You could try, but I wouldn’t let you. That’s the difference between me and your victims. I’ve survived that sickness before…”

He drops his forehead onto mine. “Yea, but it’s not only that. I’m exactly what they say I am, Lem. Maybe I’m not evil, but I’m as close as it gets.”

“Don’t doubt yourself, baby,” I tell him, tracing the bandage on his chest through his shirt. “You’ve stayed true up until this point. What changed?”

I can feel him quivering as he breathes, “I’m in love with you.”

The strangest thing happens inside me when he says those words. The first ever true sense of relief washes over me. I feel placated, at ease. I feel like I’m home.

How is it possible to feel this way when a serial killer tells you he loves you? And am I a total idiot for accepting these feelings from Felix, knowing he suffers from the same afflictions as the man who kidnapped and raped me? Sure, not exactly the same… Because Felix feels a certain type of way about people who harm children. But still… It’s not a far stretch, it’s more like a hop.

And how would I know if he truly loves me, anyway? Felix Darcey falls in love with everyone. Am I to believe that his feelings for me are different?

I suppose they could be… My feelings for him are, after all.

Felix snaps his fingers in front of my face, and I flinch. “Lemuel… you’ve been staring off into space for like a full minute. Did I scare the shit out of you? Because if so, we can totally forget I said that. I mean, it’s not like anything can come of it anyway… right?”

My brow furrows. “It can’t?”

“I don’t know…” He rubs his eyes. “I’m fucking selfish, baby. I want to keep you so bad. I want you to be mine the way I’m so obviously yours. But I’m here, and there’s no reason you should need to be stuck on this damn island just because I am…”

His possessiveness narrows my chest inside, like a vice grip on my lungs. I used to think it was discomfort. But I’m beginning to understand the sensation a little better…

“Come now, my killer bee,” I sigh, shifting him off of my lap. “No more talk. The food is definitely cold.” I reach for the bag, removing containers and silverware. “Eat.”

His eyes linger on me while he picks up his food and digs in. I do the same, the tension in the air stifling.

“I’m not brushing past what you said,” I tell him softly, my eyes flicking in his direction. “I… I like it. I think I’m glad that you are… you know…”

“In love with you?” he mumbles, and I nod.

“Yea. That.” I bite the grin of elation off my lips.

We both eat in silence for minutes. Just thinking and chewing, enjoying the food with all these uncertainties hanging over our heads like rain clouds.

“I forgive you,” he whispers.

Giving me more relief. “Thank you.”

Felix is asleep on my chest, on the couch in my office.

After finishing our food, I felt bad watching him squirm in pain, so I applied some lotion to his sore ass cheek. And then I sucked his dick, slow and really good, because I think he deserves to be pampered for a change. I even let him fuck my mouth, and then I swallowed his cum back like dessert because I can’t fucking resist his flavor and I’m not sure I’ll ever understand why.

He fell asleep lazily stroking my cock, mumbling about draining my dick, though he was obviously too tired to follow through on that, which I was more than fine with.

I was more interested in watching him sleep and thinking about what on earth I’m going to do now.

Things between me and the East Wing doctors are tense. I know Manuel Blanco trusts me, and will let me stay on board here as long as I want to…

But then I also have to think about the funding.

He’ll never admit that it’s a problem, but it obviously is. Alabaster Penitentiary is quite visibly falling apart. You can barely walk a corridor without a chunk of concrete almost hitting you in the head. The servers are the only things updated, and even those aren’t bulletproof. I heard that right before I got here, a big storm almost took them out. Wiped out the power. I mean… these are all serious things the Warden doesn’t seem to be thinking about.

Meanwhile, he’s paying me a small fortune to sleep with one of the inmates. I can’t imagine this will be able to continue for much longer.

Maybe I could suggest staying on at a lower salary? It’s not like I need money out here. Even if I need to start paying for my own supplies, that can’t cost much. If I’m not paying rent or a mortgage, then it’s a piece of cake.

But then that brings me to the other part of this… Am I really going to stay here? Just for Felix??

And if so, for how long?

My brain is running a mile a minute. Seeking to shut it down, I focus on Felix’s breathing, the little puddle of drool he’s making on my chest and his peaceful heartbeat rapping on my stomach. Gazing down at him, I watch his eyelids flutter. He must be dreaming…

What I wouldn’t give to be inside his dreams with him. To see the kinds of twisted shit a serial killer dreams about.

I brush my fingers through his silky soft brown hair, admiring the beauty of his face, without his glasses on. He’s gorgeous either way, but I do love being able to admire his contours. My index finger runs along the slope of his nose.

But then a ringing phone stops me.

I let out an annoyed sigh, ignoring it. Once it stops, it starts up again and I roll my eyes. If this shit wakes him up, I’ll be pissed.

Gently, I slide Felix off of me onto the couch, standing up and rushing to grab the phone. It’s Callahan again. Jesus, what does this guy need??

“Hello, Dr. Callahan,” I grumble, exasperated, into the phone. “What can I do for you?”

“Love… Finally,” he breathes, sounding stressed. “Look, we’ve got a problem.”

I pause. “Okay… what is it?”

“It’s Trevel,” he says, and my stomach flops out onto the floor. “He killed again.”

This time I’m on the beach.

Just at the shore, sitting with my butt in the sand. I must have been sitting for a while because my ass cheek is kind of sore…

Lem is driving a jet ski around, and I’m watching him, smiling. I’ve always wanted to ride on one, but I never got the chance. I got arrested before I could do so many of the things I wanted to try…

I’ve never traveled. Dad took us to Disney World once when we were little. But Mom was so insufferable, they fought the entire time. We never went anywhere after that, and I always dreamt that I would get to travel on my own someday… Or better yet, with someone I loved.

We’d go to London, or Italy… Australia, or Spain, or Ireland. Somewhere different. Don’t get me wrong, I love New York, but the world is a huge place. What kind of life is it spent sitting in the same city forever?

Many nights I dreamt about hopping on a plane, jet-setting to various beautiful locales, trying their food, exploring their culture. But truthfully, I was never alone in these little fantasies. I was always holding the hand of a guy…

I couldn’t picture him exactly. At first, I thought it was Cameron, but after a while, I had trouble remembering exactly what he looked like. So every time I met a new guy, I would insert him into the fantasy, like photoshopping someone into an image that already exists. Any of them could be it, though deep down, I knew they wouldn’t be.

After Emmanuel, my plan was to kill them, whether I told myself differently or not. I never truly intended to sip champagne in first class with them, explore the beaches of Jamaica or Ibiza or wherever, smiles on our faces, bellies full of exciting new cuisine, fingers linked the whole time.

They were objects to me. I can admit that now…

Now that I’ve found the person who belongs in those pictures.

Lem is jumping waves on the jet ski and I’m cheering for him. I’m having such a great time, but when I look down, I notice that I’m still in my prison jumpsuit. And my wrists are cuffed.

Glancing back up at Lem, I see him smiling at me while he whips around. He doesn’t seem too worried about the fact that I’m handcuffed, so maybe it’s not a big deal. I peek over my shoulder. The Ivory Mansion is there… but the prison isn’t.

My brow furrows as I look around for it. But I don’t see it anywhere. Alabaster Penitentiary is no more.

Curiosity spikes inside me, concern thickening in my chest while I watch Lem. He’s getting farther and farther out. The sky above us is darkening.

Lightning strikes and I jump, the thunder so strong it rumbles the ground beneath me.

Scrambling to my feet, I scream, “Lem! Come back in! It’s too dangerous!”

Winds are whipping around me, hail falling fast, slapping my skin. My heart is flying beneath my ribcage, fear gripping my spine.

I can’t see Lem…

I can’t make him out.

Where is he?!

“Lem!” I cry into the gray abyss.

The storm is swallowing us up…

And I can’t see.

Flinging upright, my eyes open wide as I look around frantically. My pulse is pounding in my ears and I’m sweating. It takes a moment for me to remember where I am, but then I recognize it as Lem’s office.

Oh, right. We fell asleep in here.

Slapping my hand over my heart, I wince because there are still wounds healing there. Jesus, that dream was crazy. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, calming myself down. Then I reopen them, reaching for my glasses on the table. I put them on, and my panic reappears.

Lem isn’t here.

My blinking becomes rapid as I slink off the couch, peering around the room. Everything is exactly how it was when I fell asleep. The empty Chinese food containers are on the table… But his work phone isn’t there.

Maybe he just went to the bathroom.

I tell myself that’s all it is. That he just needed to handle some business real quick, and he’ll be back in a few minutes. But the more minutes pass, the uneasier I grow, until I’m pacing around the office on the verge of a meltdown.

I decide to open the office door, peering out into the hall. It’s quiet, as usual. I don’t see or hear anyone. Part of me knows I should just stay in Lem’s office and wait for him to get back… But the other part of me is nervous. It’s already been hours, and I just can’t sit in here anymore. So I step out into the hallway.

Walking as quietly as possible, my head flings back and forth on the lookout for anyone. I know I’m not supposed to be wandering around alone. That much is obvious. But I need to find Lem. I need to make sure he’s okay. I’m… worried. There’s a sort of sick feeling rumbling in my gut like nausea, and I know it won’t go away until I see him.

I follow the long halls toward the showers, figuring I’ll check in there first—any doors I can open without a key. But just before I reach the last one, it swings open in front of my face.

“Oh… hello.” Dr. Templeton’s thin lips curve into a sinister smirk.

I back up slowly. Crap.

He steps closer to me, another man coming in behind him, tall with dark, slicked-back hair and olive skin. He’s stone-faced and serious, following Templeton as that asshole inches toward me.

I keep backing up.

“We were just looking for you,” Templeton says calmly, pulling a walkie off of his belt. “I found him. East Wing corridor B5, right before the showers.”

Someone on the other end says, ten-four, and they keep coming for me, slowly, as if I’m a trapped animal who might lash out. It’s pretty accurate.

“Back the fuck off, Templeton,” I growl. “I’ll go to my cell. It’s fine.”

“We have other plans,” he says.

My spine stiffens with fear. I don’t know who this new guy is, but his presence is worrying me. Why is he here? And where the fuck is Lem??

My back connects with the door, and I quickly reach behind myself, whipping it open and darting through. I’m prepared to run as fast as I can back to Lem’s office, but when I turn, I come face to face with Claude and one of the other, bigger orderlies, Bruce.

Fuck…

They’re coming at me slowly with a straitjacket. My face whips over my shoulder to find Templeton and the new guy lurching toward me from the other side. They have me cornered.

Blood rushes in my ears as I try to dive around the orderlies. But they grab me.

“Fuck you!” I struggle against them, fighting them with all my strength, ripping my arms and kicking my legs. “Let me go!”

“I’ll handle this.” The black-haired guy steps over and I notice a giant syringe in his hand.

My eyes widen in panic. “Fuck… no! Lem! Lem, help!”

My cries are cut off when he sticks it into my neck.

And everything goes black.

My head weighs a hundred pounds.

My throat is dry, my lips are cracked. I’m sore all over and my eyelids are so heavy I can barely lift them.

Eventually I manage it, but my vision is blurry…

My glasses.

There’s something on my face. Something I can feel that’s blocking my mouth, like a fucking muzzle. I try reaching up to touch it, but I can’t move my arms. I assume it’s because of the straitjacket… But something feels different.

Where am I??

I attempt to look around, but I can’t move my neck either. Or my legs. I can’t move anything! All I can do is wiggle my fingers and toes, blink and move my mouth behind this covering strapped to my face. That’s literally it.

I’m frozen.

The more I come to, trying like hell to remember something or pick out a detail nearby that gives me some answers, the more I realize that my back is leaning against something. Something hard, metal. Like a slab.

Jerking forward, I feel my torso strapped down. My legs, too.

My breathing is picking up, heart rate increasing steadily as I writhe and squirm and fight against whatever is holding me. I’m trapped.

I’m fucking suffocating.

“Oh fuck, oh Jesus…” I gasp, closing my eyes tight, trying to suck air in through this damn muzzle covering my mouth. “Okay, calm down.” My voice is muffled by the tightness of the mask. “Just breathe. Everything is fine.”

I see blurred movement and my eyes jump in its direction.

“Nice pep talk.” The voice is familiar.

Goddammit, not this asshole.

“You know, Felix, I don’t know what you’re whining about,” Templeton goes on, rambling his nonsense while I try to remember to breathe, muzzled and strapped to a slab like Hannibal freaking Lecter. “You’ve had a lot of privileges here. Infinitely more than any of the other sad, withering bodies in this prison. You’ve gotten better food, clothes… Even before your Doctor Daddy came along, you got drugs and sex.”

I can’t quite see him. It’s too blurry without my glasses, but I can hear the evil grin in his voice. The memory of him touching me makes my skin crawl.

“And then Lemuel shows up and you get even more freedoms,” he growls. “You get to sleep in a mansion! Shit, I don’t even get that. You’ve been pampered like some kind of depraved royalty. The wicked prince of Alabaster Penitentiary.”

He moves his face in front of mine, and I can make out his pale skin, almost translucent. His dark eyes, a gross hazel, like a swamp. This guy might be a doctor, but he’s every bit as evil as I am. I can tell.

It’s like Lem wrote in his book…

We all have good in us. We all house evil. The extent to which we practice it is what separates us from them.

“Why are you toying with me?” I mumble, barely able to form sentences with how tightly this thing is wrapped over my lips.

“Because I can,” he sighs, clearly very pleased with himself. “Because it’s my job. And we have much work to do. But first, I’m bringing you for a little field trip.”

Templeton disappears behind me. I try straining my neck to move and look for him, but I’m strapped down around my throat. If I move, I choke myself.

But suddenly, I am moving. My whole body is.

I startle, eyes flinging about as I’m pushed toward the door. They have me on some sort of handcart. Templeton is literally wheeling me out of the dark room I was in, through a doorway and up a long corridor.

God, what the fuck is going on?? Where is he bringing me…? What’s he going to do to me?

And where the fuck is Lem??

Templeton wheels me for a while. We pass a few guards who gawk at me like I’m crazy. And that’s exactly what I am.

I’m a monster in fucking chains. Muzzled and strapped down.

And I know I deserve it.

I was an idiot to think I could have any kind of relationship with Lem. Any kind of normal thing…

The truth is, I’m not normal. I’m one of the least normal people ever created. I’m the point-zero-zero-zero-zero-six percent of the population. A killer, with no remorse.

What would ever lead me to believe I’m worthy love…? Especially love with someone like Lemuel…

He’s a genius. He’s so damn smart, and thoughtful, and inquisitive. Reserved, but when you get inside him just enough, it’s like finding a treasure chest full of shiny gold emotions.

He’s the perfect mix of good and bad, twisted and scarred in the best possible ways. He’s goddamn beautiful inside and out, and I love him. I love him, more than I’ve ever loved anyone.

It has and always will be my downfall. My curse.

To fall in love with Love, just out of reach.

I hear noises. Sounds I haven’t heard in a while…

Voices. Lots of them. Shouting, surrounded by loud clanks and clunks. We’re nearing general population.

Fuck.

I’m wheeled through the halls and, go figure, it’s the exact moment when the guards are herding inmates out of the cafeteria.

“Holy shit! Is that The Carver?!” someone shouts.

And then pandemonium ensues.

Inmates are shouting, swarming around me while the guards shove them back.

“Fall in line, you sorry pricks!” Joy’s voice bellows, and everyone cowers.

I can’t see much, since I can’t turn my head, but I catch a blurry glimpse of the guys I met in the shower that time… Luthor and Ren, confirmed by their familiar voices.

“Shit, man… That’s messed up,” Luthor says quietly while Rook shoves him along.

“Move, inmate,” Rook grumbles, though his sympathetic eyes are set on me. “Nothing to see here.”

“Are you fucking high?!” someone roars, and even though I can’t see him, I know right away that it’s Velle. “What would make your pea-sized brain think it’s a good idea to bring him up here right now??”

“I have orders, Officer,” Templeton mumbles, then continues pushing me. “If you’ll excuse me…”

“Jesus Christ, I hate doctors,” Velle seethes.

As Templeton is wheeling me around the corner, I spot Velle standing next to Rook. The image is fuzzy, but I still make out Rook’s hand, brushing Velle’s side. My brows jump in surprise.

Wow… Cujo has a boyfriend. Interesting.

And then I see Rook do the same thing to Joy, who winks at him.

The three of them?? Okay, actually, it makes perfect sense.

Templeton walks me along, through another two hallways, every guard I pass giving me shocked expressions, which must mean I really look like a menace in this thing. But all I can think about is how different it is up here… with the people everywhere. The noise.

I used to be overwhelmed by it. I’ve always preferred quiet to loud noise, and me being locked away from the rest of the prison just made sense. But right now, there’s a pang in my chest.

I wish I had friends.

I wish I could sit at a table with Luthor and Ren and chat about whatever they like to talk about. I wish Dash was still here and I could listen to him.

I’m always so alone… Even after Lem, he was all I had. And that’s not fair to him.

Even if he were to stay on this island with me… Could I really be enough for him?

God, my thoughts are all over the place. I’m spiraling. I need my doctor. Where is he??

Finally, we reach a large room, and Templeton pushes me into the middle, then stops.

“Felix Darcey,” the next familiar voice croons. And this one makes all the hairs on my body stand up.

Ivory.

The Warden steps in front of me, his pale skin and white hair almost illuminated in the darkness of the room.

“I must admit, you look exquisite like this.” He grins, tugging at the muzzle around my mouth and nose. It’s muggy as hell inside this thing from my heavy breathing.

“I asked Dr. Templeton here to bring you up so that I could tell you in person how sorry I am.” He speaks evenly, voice as smooth as music, even when he’s saying fucked up shit.

“For what?” I mumble, my wide eyes stuck on him.

He straightens, towering over me. Like he’s the monster, which I fully believe. “About Dr. Love. I’m so sorry it had to end this way.”

My heart falls into my stomach so hard I flinch. My lips are shivering while I pant, “W-what… what do you mean??”

I’m freaking the fuck out. Instant terror is strangling me, cutting off my oxygen. I can’t breathe.

If he hurt Lem, I swear to God, I will tear him apart with my bare hands.

“He’s gone,” he says casually.

I lunge against my restraints, baring my teeth like an animal, even though he can’t see. Glowering at him, I roar, “If you hurt him, I will rip you to pieces, Ivory. You hear me?!” My voice rises into a hoarse bellow. “I’ll slit your throat from ear to ear! I will chop your head off and fuck your decapitated corpse!”

The Warden’s face lights up, a wide smile appearing on his lips. “Wow!” He lets out an amused cackle. “That was perfect! I have chills.” He claps his hands together. “Really, well done, Felix. You’ve truly earned your name. You’re frightening.”

“Fuck you,” I whine, out of breath, my chest caving in devastation. “Just tell me where he is…”

“He’s alive and well, Felix. Calm down before you give yourself an aneurism.” The Warden beings pacing slowly in front of me while I let out the longest breath of relief ever. “But unfortunately, he’s no longer on Alabaster Isle. He had to leave us, I’m afraid.”

My heart was just inching its way back into my chest, and now it’s splattered onto the floor.

No… what?!?

“His time with us has come to an end. Which is sad because his research was impeccable.” The Warden stops talking and glances somewhere behind me. “Oh, enough with the sour puss, Templeton. You’ve gotten what you wanted. Love is gone, and now you’re up.”

There are so many things bounding through my head, I feel like I could pass out.

The Ivory sighs. “Yes, it was no surprise that many of my employees questioned Dr. Love’s intentions. But the fact remains… I hired him, knowing he would do things differently.” He pauses and turns to smirk at me. “And he didn’t disappoint.”

“W-why…” I gasp, feeling like I’m crumbling to bits inside all of this strapped up material.

“He had some business to attend to with a former patient. Something urgent.” He turns a wickedly knowing look on me. “More important than what he was working on here, apparently. And when you leave this island, you don’t come back. That’s my rule… whether some people like to disobey it or not.”

He gets this furious etch to his face for a moment, but I’m not paying attention.

I’m too busy falling the fuck apart.

“No…” I whimper, my face growing tight, pressure building behind my eyes so thick they might pop out of my skull.

He can’t be gone…

Why would he leave without at least saying goodbye??

I feel like someone is carving my heart out of my chest with dull tools. I’ve never suffered such extreme emotional pain. Nothing I’ve experienced has ever felt this awful…

He left me. He fucking deserted me.

A tear slides down my cheek.

“Felix, I can see that you’re upset,” the Warden says. “I know Lemuel must have meant something to you. After everything he engaged in with you, I’m sure it was inevitable that you’d grow attached. But I’m going to be brutally honest here…” He leans over my face. “He’s just a doctor, and you’re just his patient. Nothing more.”

I feel the empty socket in my chest decaying already. My soul is rotted, covered in black mold and the stench of death.

This is what I deserve.

“You served your purpose for him,” the Warden goes on, still hacking me apart with his words. “He got what he always dreamed of… To slip inside the mind of a serial killer. And boy, he sure carved out his spot inside yours.” He grins, a sly, damning curve to his pink lips. “But Lemuel is not like you, Felix. So he’s returned to his life. And you’re still here with us.”

My limbs are trembling, wet tears rushing from my eyes, blurring my vision even more. I can’t breathe well, sniffling beneath my muzzle.

It hurts. This hurts.

“It’s for the best, my pet.” The Ivory winks at me. “Brainwashing complete.”

He twirls away from me, waltzing across the room with a flip of his hand in the air. “Bring him back to the dungeon, Templeton, my dear boy. You and Hassan have much work to do.”

We’re moving again, but I can’t feel it. I can’t feel anything but throbbing pain, like the ache that comes from a wound.

Like the ache in my chest where he cut me. Marked me and drank my blood…

I thought we had something. I thought he wanted me.

I cry softly. “I want… I want Love.”

Templeton mumbles something, but I can’t hear him.

I’m empty once more. Just like I knew I’d be. I can’t believe I fooled myself into thinking he would stay…

No one stays. They all leave me in the end.

Because I’m a worthless loser. A creep, a monster…

I’m sick… and he left before I infected him.

My Love is gone. The only person I had in this world… The only person who ever understood me, who saw me.

And I’m invisible again.

I didn’t want to leave him.

When Callahan called me, he was frantic. After all, he’d been treating Trevel for weeks since I left. His killing again would surely reflect on Callahan’s abilities. But I know better…

Trevel killing has nothing to do with Callahan. And as much as some people may think otherwise, it has very little to do with me either.

It’s about him. Trevel killed because he wanted to.

Regardless of all that, I knew I probably should go attend to the matter. But the thing was that even if I’d wanted to just ignore it, that was no longer an option.

Because The Ivory had gotten involved.

Somehow, Manuel Blanco found out about Trevel and his killings. My thoughts are that he started paying attention to Trevel when he started paying attention to me, though I can’t be certain, because he wouldn’t answer me when I asked about it.

It was mere moments after I hung up with Callahan that Yari called me and told me to meet Manuel in his office. And when I got there, he presented me with his ultimatum.

“I want him,” Manuel had said, fully serious while leaning back in his desk chair, swiveling from side to side. “I would like to add Trevel Fenwick to my collection, and you, my dear Love, are going to fetch him for me.”

I didn’t know what to say or do, so I simply asked, “And if I can’t?”

His lips curled as he peeked at me, dark eyes radiating a sly certainty. “That would be unfortunate, wouldn’t it, Lemuel?”

My last words to Trevel echoed in my brain…

That would be unfortunate, wouldn’t it…?

I couldn’t help the way I gaped at him bewilderedly, like the evil warlock he so obviously is.

Manuel straightened. “There is a car waiting for you downstairs to bring you back to the mainland, and then to the airport. You will return with Trevel, or not at all.”

Then he sort of shooed me away as Kent opened the door to the office, wordlessly telling me this needed to happen right now.

Frustration and unease swam in my veins. “But I don’t need to leave the island to get him here,” I argued. “Let me make a few phone calls, and—”

“I’m sorry if I led you to believe this would be a brainstorming session, Lemuel.” The Ivory peered at me gravely. “You will go, right now, and get me Trevel.” The words came out slow, pronounced. A surefire command. Then he began swiveling his chair again. “After all, maybe some time away from this island will do you good.”

My gut sank while my muscles stiffened in desperate frustration. He wanted to get me away from Felix…

Why? What game is he playing here??

I couldn’t fight the feeling that this whole thing was a test. And I’ve always been a great test-taker. That said, there was no way I could just leave without at least telling Felix what was going on. I couldn’t let him think I abandoned him without a word.

My lips parted to say that, but The Ivory’s obsidian irises shot an unsettling urgency at me, and it all dried up my throat. He froze me, like Medusa, with the reality of the situation. I couldn’t speak those words to The Ivory. I couldn’t let him know I wanted to stay with Felix… About how much I care for him. It would derail everything.

It would give him even more leverage against me than he already has.

And in that moment, I had a flash in my brain. Like a premonition…

Felix and I curled up on the chaise lounge in the atrium outside the mansion, surrounded by flowers. Felix lifting his head off of my chest to look down at me with a sated smile, pushing his glasses up his nose. Me kissing him. Him tasting like lemonade and strawberries and summer.

A corny love song from the eighties playing in the background…

I have no idea where that image came from, but I knew I wanted it. I do want it. Perhaps even more than that. I need it.

Of course, I could just leave Alabaster Isle and never look back. I already completed the job I’ve been dreaming of for decades. I could go back to my regular life having checked this off my list…

But the thought of never seeing him again, my fascinating deadly creature, felt like suffocation… Like a rope tightening around my throat.

Because for all the trouble it would be loving him, I couldn’t imagine continuing on without it. I can’t. As it turns out, I want the trouble. I might even love it…

So I forced my mouth shut and did as I was told, leaving Alabaster Isle without a word. It pained me to do it, but I have every intention of coming back for my patient.

This is a test, after all. I have to prove that I belong here. And to do that, I’ll need to get my hands dirty.

It takes me many hours of travel to get back to Atlanta. And it’s the strangest thing, but once I’m here, I immediately miss that island in the middle of the ocean.

The city is hot and muggy, going into summer humid, loud, and stuffier than I remember. I go straight to my office, even though it’s the evening. Inside, I enjoy the quiet of the building at this time of night. It’s amazing how much being at Alabaster Penitentiary for a couple of months put things into perspective for me.

As it turns out, I prefer the quiet and the dark.

Living amongst the chaos.

Looking around my office, I reacquaint myself with my surroundings. It’s a nice place, modern and luxurious in an efficient sort of way. I wish I had a place like this in Alabaster Pen. But then that building is falling apart. There’s no room for nice offices.

Taking a seat at my desk, I place a few more calls, inviting Callahan by in the morning to chat, since I’ll just be waiting around anyway.

And then, I get to work on my own tasks.

I spend hours drafting documents, a list of all my patients to be divvied up between Callahan and the members of his practice. A script for Emily so she can call them and let them know I’ll no longer be treating them. Then I put together a binder for the sublet on my penthouse, sale of my car, my office, and my condo in St. Simons.

I write out a statement of sorts for my employees, my lawyer, the board of my building, really anyone concerned, which basically states I’m going on an indefinite hiatus, a soul-searching mission of sorts. That I’m fine, but I won’t see them anytime soon.

I think it will suffice. If not, I don’t really care.

It’s freeing. Just like when I decided to take this crazy, life-changing job on Alabaster Isle, only slightly more intense. Like parasailing, which I have done, by the way.

The wind is whipping at my face, and I can smell the ocean.

I’m almost there… I’ll be back with you soon, baby.

I stay in my office all night working, and in the morning, when I can’t even focus on any more tedious bullshit, I have breakfast delivered because I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since the Chinese food with Felix almost thirty-six hours ago.

It arrives right as Callahan shows up. I’m tearing through some crepes and a side of chicken, apple, and gruyere sausage while Callahan paces around me nervously.

“How can you eat?” He gasps, running his hands over his tired eyes.

“Because I’m starving,” I grumble, then glance at him. “And because this really isn’t a big deal.”

“Isn’t a big deal??” He looks appalled. “The man I’ve been treating, who you’ve been treating for years, went on a killing spree!”

I fight not to roll my eyes. “I’d hardly call it a spree. He killed the woman he was seeing, their brother, and a bus boy within a span of three days.”

“Yea, two or more,” he grunts. “That’s a spree.”

“Ehh… three days?” I shrug. “I’m not so sure.”

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” he hisses. “The police are asking questions. There’s a manhunt going on…”

“Yes, well, I’m sure they’ll catch him.” I take a sip of orange juice, withholding the information that I have on the matter.

Callahan sits down across from me. “You know, I would be much more worried if I were you.”

My brow arches. “Oh yea? And why is that?”

“Because Trevel wasn’t happy about you leaving him with me,” he says, wide eyes locked on me. “He told me multiple times that he felt like you abandoned him in his time of need. Jesus Christ, now that I’m thinking back to it, some of the things he said should have raised some red flags.” He drops his face into his hands.

I feel bad for Callahan. He’s in over his head, and clearly, he doesn’t see these things as inevitable like I do.

Trevel can be upset with me all he wants, and truthfully, his feelings toward me are only going to deteriorate with what I have planned. I’m just hoping my guy can find him before the police do.

“Callahan, look.” I sit forward. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. You just go home and relax. Be with Felicia and the kids. Take some time off. This whole thing will work itself out.”

He lifts his face to gawk at me. “You’re awfully confident for someone whose serial killer patient is on the loose and angry.”

My face remains casually unaffected. He’s not the only murderous lunatic I know personally…

Callahan and I chat for a few more minutes, most of which are spent with me trying to calm him down. He begrudgingly agrees to put in for a vacation and leaves my office, after which I place a call to Yari with the information of the Lead Detective on Trevel’s case. I don’t believe the cops will find him before my guy does, but just in case… Manuel Blanco might have to wave around that card he uses so often to get what he wants. Not to mention I’m sure they’ll be telling the public that Trevel is dead as soon as I turn him over to The Ivory.

Speaking of, I place one more call to my private investigator, who catches me up on some promising leads he has, and I feel good. I’m comforted by what’s happening. The chaos around me feels… nice.

And with that in mind, I call my parents. After all, I have some time to kill.

“Lemuel, where have you been??” My mother actually sounds concerned, which is shocking. “Your father and I have been worried. Your assistant said you were traveling for work, but had no other details…”

“Yes, Mother, I was doing a job in a remote location,” I tell her. “Cell service was limited.”

“What kind of job requires a psychiatrist to travel to a remote location?” she asks, and though it’s not outright, I can almost hear the scoff. As if it’s purely ridiculous that anyone would want to hire me for anything.

“It’s irrelevant,” I mutter through gritted teeth. “Look, I’m back in the city, but only for a few days. I’d like to come see you…” To say goodbye.

“Oh, alright,” she says, seemingly caught off guard. “Well, how about tonight? I’ll cook and invite your grandfather.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I almost smile.

It’s the first time I’ve ever been excited to see my parents, and of course it will be the last.

I intend on making it count.

Later that evening, I arrive at my parents’ house.

The familiar twinge of nervous unease weaves its way through my stomach, but to my surprise, it’s nowhere near as stifling as it usually is. This time, I’m ready for their disapproval. Hell, I’m even welcoming it.

I’ve never been concerned with making them happy, or proud, since they never worried about doing it for me. But in this instance, I think I’d like to see just how much I can ruin their moods.

At the front door, I knock. And after a few seconds, it opens, revealing my father’s face.

“Son! Great to see you.” He welcomes me inside and I pause for a moment, bemused.

Son? That’s a first.

“Hey, Dad.” I walk through the foyer with him, and as usual, we go to the bar first for a drink.

He knows I don’t drink much. In fact, neither does he, nor Mom. But it’s a sort of tradition for us. Have a couple of drinks with dinner. I think it’s the only way we can tolerate one another.

“Hey, there he is.” The familiar rumble of my grandfather catches my ear, and I turn to find him sidling over, using a cane.

“Gramp… what happened?” I ask, giving him one of those half-hug, half-handshake things.

“Ah, nothing.” He waves me off. “I’m just getting old, in case you couldn’t tell.” He grins, and I force a small smile for him.

I wish it had been different, Gramp… I wish you hadn’t done what you did. We could have been close.

“Wine?” my father asks.

“Maybe something a little stronger,” I answer, and he looks surprised.

“Scotch it is,” he says, pouring us each a glass and we raise them. “To family.”

They clink on mine, and take their sips, but I’m kind of frozen. I can’t believe that they’re being so cavalier, especially after the way I left last time. I haven’t spoken to them since that night, and they’re really just going to act like nothing happened?

This is bullshit.

“Mom in the kitchen?” I ask, sipping my drink. Not as smooth as the stuff Manuel Blanco had.

“Yea, putting on her finishing touches,” Dad says, then leans on the bar, facing me while Gramp takes a seat. “So what’s this about some job in a remote location?”

Here we go…

I take a breath. “I can’t discuss much about it, but it was quite the place…”

I think wistfully back to that mansion. The garden, and the forest path… To pressing Felix up against a tree, kissing him dizzy while we both shiver…

“What is it, some kind of top-secret CIA rub?” Gramp chuckles.

“Yea, I’m sure they always have a need for therapists,” my father jokes, and my fist clenches by my side.

“I was asked for by name,” I mutter, eyeing him over the rim of the glass.

My father nods. “Well, a month is a while to be away…”

“Actually, I’m not finished,” I throw in. “Far from it. In fact, I’ll be going back as soon as I can. Indefinitely.”

My dad chokes on his sip. “Indefinitely?? You’re going to stay there?”

“And you can’t even tell us where it is?” Gramp asks.

I shake my head. “No, I can’t. I probably wouldn’t even if I could.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” My father huffs.

“It means that you’ve never cared about my job, and you don’t care now. Why would I tell you anything about it?”

They both stare blankly at me for a moment. It makes me want to laugh. I mean, honestly. What did they think was going to happen? We were just going to forget everything and live the rest of our lives acting like none of it happened? Actually, I’m sure that’s exactly what they thought.

Bunch of fools…

My mother pokes her head into the room and says, “Dinner’s ready, boys. Lemuel, be a dear and pour me a glass of red.”

And hello to you too, Mom.

Dad and Gramp wander into the dining room while I pour the red. Once I’m joining them, my mother is delivering the last dishes of food. And I won’t lie, this is the one part I miss. My mom’s food is bangin’.

We take our seats around the table, and the tension is already high. I can feel it. But I’m choosing to revel in it right now. It’s only going to get worse.

When she’s finally done, my mother says, “Go ahead, everyone. Dig in.”

“Everything smells great, Mom,” I tell her, scooping a generous helping of potato salad onto my plate. Followed by corn fritters. And her famous crab salad. Dear God, how am I going to leave this??

“Thank you,” Mom says with a curt smile. “So, tell us the situation with this job. It sounds strange…”

My face loses all traces of delight. Oh, right. That’s how.

“Well, like I told Dad and Gramp, I can’t say much,” I mumble in between bites. “Since I’ve signed an NDA and all.”

“You didn’t mention an NDA,” my father says.

My eyes dart to his with a pointed look. “I was getting there when you started berating me.”

“Lemuel, why must you always be so dramatic?” my mother chastises. “You act like we’re out to get you, when really all we want is the best for you. We always have.”

I was hoping for a little more time with this food, but I guess we’re starting now.

I drop my fork onto my plate with a clink. “Is that right? You’ve always wanted the best for me?”

I glare at them. Dad and Gramp appear mildly remorseful. But my mother isn’t having it. She’s standing her ground.

“Lemuel, you need to learn to let that go,” she says quietly, an almost warning tone to match the look on her face.

“Vera, I think we should just—” My father tries, but she raises a hand to stop him.

“No, he needs to hear this.” Her eyes are severe, similar to mine in color, richer around the iris. “Things happen, and you move on. It’s the way of the world. I mean, for God’s sake, you’re a psychiatrist! Do you advise your patients to dwell on things that happened twenty-some-odd years ago?!”

Rage is rising in my body like high tide. “No, Mother. I would advise them to confront their pasts, head-on.” Something flits through my brain—an idea. But I push it aside for now. “So that’s what I’m doing. You—” my eyes bounce between the three of them, “—are all horrible people.”

“Lemuel, please…” my father gripes.

I stand up, gripping the edge of the table with white knuckles. “You allowed that monster to do what he did to me. You let him get away with it! Covered it up like it was nothing.” My volume is lifting, fury shaking my voice. “Never once did you offer me anything for what happened that night. No therapy, no one to talk to. You brushed it all under the rug and pretended it never happened! Well, guess what? It happened. And it happened to your only son, who apparently isn’t worth a damn.”

In a fit, I pick up my glass and whip it across the opposite wall. Glass shatters, liquor dripping down the paint. My mother flinches, but keeps her angry grimace intact. My father’s eyes are wide with unease. And my Gramp… Well, he’s just staring in silence. Completely shut down.

“That’s why I do what I do,” I tell them, though it’s only partially true. “I want to make sure no one ever has to live with something that will eat them alive. Because that’s what this shit does. It’s like the cancer you remove from your patients. It grows inside you, a black mass, infecting every aspect of your life. The human mind is so much more complex than you assholes give it credit for.”

Pausing to take a breath, I watch their shocked faces, gaping back at me like they don’t have the slightest clue what to say or do. I’m sure they don’t. After all, they did what they did for a reason. Because they’re completely unequipped to deal with any sort of emotional conflict or confrontation. It’s sad, really.

Letting out a ragged breath, I mumble, “You can try to bury things in the depths of your minds… Deny that they ever happened. But you’ll always remember.” My eyes flit to my mother’s. “Like the time I walked in on you fucking Harold when I was ten.” Her face contorts in outrage and humiliation as my head cocks. “You know, Dad’s other brother… The one who isn’t a murdering rapist.”

“Lemuel, enough!” my father barks. “What good can come of dredging up the past this way?”

I let out an incredulous chuckle. “Funny, I thought I already answered that question. But I wouldn’t expect you to comprehend it. After all, you knew she fucked around on you… and you stayed with her. You both are just so deep in your denial. Always worried about how things look from the outside. But beneath the surface, you’re rotten.”

My eyes land on my grandfather. “And you. You’ve been awfully silent through this whole thing… Care to weigh in?” He simply lets out a tired breath, forehead creasing in defeat. “That’s what I thought. You’re the worst of all. You are the one who helped Stephen stay out of jail. You used all your lofty connections, from being the world’s biggest egotist, to keep a rapist and a killer on the streets. One year in Belleview. One fucking year?!” I slam my fists down on the table, rattling the silverware. “Do you have any idea what he did to me?!”

Gramp’s hand flies to his mouth. His eyes well with tears. But he says nothing.

There’s nothing left to be said.

These people were supposed to care for me, not him. But instead, they acted as if it never happened. And ever since that day, I’ve been chasing answers. Acceptance.

Closure.

It’s been twenty-three years, and I’m still fucked up over it. Because of them.

“You know what?” I sigh, kicking my chair back forcefully. “I feel more at home surrounded by criminals and psychopaths than I do next to you people. And that’s saying something.”

I give them one last look of disgust and disappointment before storming toward the door.

My mother’s voice catches me before I exit the dining room. “Lemuel, wait. You can’t just walk out again…”

I turn over my shoulder. “I can. The only difference is this time, I’m not coming back.”

And then I leave.

I stomp through the house, racing for the door just like last time. And that reminds me…

Stopping at the end table by the door again, I see the same piece of mail with the return address: S. Love Chicago, IL

Felix’s voice pops into my head. Take it. This is your chance.

Snatching the envelope, I dart out of the house without giving it a single lingering glance. I hop into my rental car, and I drive to the airport.

The entire ride to Hartsfield-Jackson, I considered my next move. And a lot of it felt like a fog.

For how slow time can often move, the moments leading up to this one passed in the blink of an eye. It was almost as if I was moving instinctually. On autopilot, doing what I always knew I should have done, but couldn’t bring myself to make it happen.

I suppose this was inevitable. It just took a little push from my favorite serial killer to get here. To realize that the answer was in front of me all along.

My taxi pulls along the curb in front of the house, and I glance out the window.

This is it. 8213 West Summerdale Avenue.

I pay the driver and get out, taking a quiet moment to stare at the residence. Really, it’s just a house. There’s nothing prophetic about it, no screams coming from inside or ravens circling it in the sky. In fact, it’s a million times more normal looking than the place I’ve been living for the past two months. Which just goes to show how bullshit appearances are.

Stephen looks normal. So does Felix…

My lips quirk at the thought of my preppy lunatic, forcing my feet to move, bringing me up the walkway to the front door. Sucking in a long breath, I prepare myself as I ring the doorbell.

Shifting my weight anxiously, I wait for many heavy seconds, wondering if I should press it again. There’s a car in the driveway, which means someone’s definitely here. I just hope it’s him and not a clueless wife or something.

But then I hear movement from behind the door. And it cracks open, revealing a face I haven’t seen in twenty-three years.

“Hello, Stephen,” I say calmly, though the adrenaline is racking my limbs. “Long time no see.”

He gives me a peculiar look at first, as if he’s not quite recognizing me, since it’s been so long. The last time he saw me, I was fourteen. Just developing, barely on the cusp of becoming a man. Shorter hair, less muscle. No tattoos. And he was in his early thirties, looking pretty much exactly the same as he does now. Only now he’s visibly older, face a bit weathered, some more lines and gray at his temples. But it’s still clearly him.

The man who probably would have killed me if he’d only tied the rope tighter.

I see the moment when it dawns on him who’s standing on his front steps. His eyes widen, and he gets this sort of horrified look in his eyes, though he’s actively trying to cover it up. He glances behind me quickly and I chuckle.

“There are no camera crews or anything here.” I grin. “Just me.”

“What do you want, Lemuel?” he mutters. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again…”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” I rumble and nod behind him. “May I come in?” He looks like he wants to protest, but before he can, I add, “I just want to talk. I think you owe me that.”

Regarding me warily, he finally lets out a breath and moves aside, allowing me to walk past him. The inside of his house is what you’d expect from a secret monster. Neat. Organized. Sparsely decorated. He has some art on the walls that he probably doesn’t even care for. But it’s the image.

I wander over to a shelf to observe a few framed pictures. I don’t recognize anyone in them.

“So… what did you want to talk about?” he asks hesitantly. “I don’t have long. I’m expecting someone.”

My lips curl. “No, you aren’t. You just want me to think you’ll have backup in case I try something…”

His jaw tenses visibly, but he doesn’t argue.

Taking a seat with a sigh on a leather chair, I pull the envelope I stole from my parents’ house out of my pocket. “I know you’ve been in contact with my parents. I know they’ve been sending you money, and I’m sure Gramp has, too… They’ve been funding your life for years.” My eyes move around the room. “They bought you this house, didn’t they?”

I witness him swallow, but he stays quiet.

Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees. “You aren’t even a productive member of society, Stephen. Do you work? Do you do anything? Other than raping young boys, I mean. Because let’s face it… There’s no way you gave that up.”

His lips part, hatred flashing in his eyes. But still, he says nothing.

“After all, you got away scot-free… So why wouldn’t you just keep going, right?”

“No,” he finally grunts. “You’re wrong. After you—” His voice cuts out so he doesn’t have to say the words. Fury sprouts like a seedling inside me. “I went to Belleview. I got help. They cured me!”

An almost Cheshire Cat-like smile forms on my mouth and I sit back in the chair to create my nonchalant stance, crossing my ankle over my knee. “Stephen, do you know what I do for a living?”

“No,” he grumbles. “How the hell would I know that?”

My shoulder lifts in a shrug. “Maybe you kept tabs on the one who got away. Who knows…”

“I didn’t,” he growls. “You ruined my life. You should have just kept your fucking mouth shut.”

Wow. The audacity.

Ignoring that for now, I sigh. “I’m a clinical psychiatrist and I study behavioral psychology, particularly as it pertains to sociopathy.” His angry glare turns a bit chagrined. “And so, because of that, I know with absolute certainty that you are not cured. You never will be.” My head tilts. “You are just as sick, depraved, and socially stunted as you were when I was fourteen and you tied me to a beam in an abandoned basement and sucked my dick.”

He lets out an angry roar and jumps up from his seat, stalking over to me. I remain seated.

“You are such a goddamn cock tease, Lem! You always fucking were,” he hisses down at me. “Traipsing around without a care in the world. You just looked like the easiest prey in the world. But instead, you turned out to be a massive pain in my ass!”

“Because I forced you to stop…?” I ask casually. “By opening my ‘fucking mouth?’”

“Yes!” He gasps. “Because you were an entitled little shit. You could have just taken it, like the rest of them. But no… You had to get your fucking panties in a twist.”

My teeth grind together as the vines of rage crawl faster and I stand up slowly, putting myself within an inch of his face. I witness him fumbling in his resentment as I narrow my gaze. “What was the name of the boy you killed again? Tim Meadows, right?”

“They never found a body,” he stammers quietly, that confidence from a second ago wavering. “Couldn’t tie me to it.”

“Funny you should mention that…” I smirk. “Because my P.I.—his name is Sven. Fucking phenomenal at digging, I’m telling you—he was able to locate the body of a John Doe in Atlanta. The boy would have been about thirteen. Same age as Tim Meadows when he disappeared…”

“There’s no way to tie me to it,” he says again, insistently. Trying to convince himself.

“Maybe.” I shrug. “Like I said, my guy is very good. And he knows a lot of people in a lot of offices. Coroners, medical examiners, forensic analysts, detectives. Who knows what they might find now that they’re finally looking into this. Like they should have twenty-plus years ago, if your father wasn’t so consumed by how it would look… to have a vicious killer pedophile for a son.”

His eyes glisten with fury, and he makes a move, lunging for me. But I’m faster.

Using all of my body weight, I shove him, pushing him across the room into the bookshelf. His back connects, a grunt fleeing his lips as I grab him by the throat.

“Thing is, Tim wasn’t the only one, was he??” I seethe in his face, squeezing his throat and trapping him with my size while his arms flail around and he tries to pry me off. “You’re pathetic to me, Stephen. But the thing is, I don’t blame you for what you do. I’m only doing this because it’s what you deserve. This is pure vengeance, plain and simple.”

“W-what… what the fuck…” he utters breathlessly, struggling against me.

I reach for one of the glass picture frames behind him, smashing it on the shelf until I’m holding only a five-inch shard.

“Now, I know this from experience, Uncle Steve…” I hold the glass up to his throat, my heart hammering in my chest. “There are only two things you can do with a rabid dog. Cage him or put him down.” I lean in for one final whisper. “You should have taken the cage.”

“No… wait—”

But I don’t.

I move back and flick my wrist, slashing the sharp glass along his throat with force. The sound of the slice into his flesh is remarkably audible, cut so deep that he opens immediately, blood pouring from the gash.

Stephen grabs at it, trying to hold it shut, but I snatch his hands away and pin him down, allowing his body to bleed him out. His eyes are wide and bulging as he sputters, gushing in rough spurts, coughing blood in my face.

The spatter coats me, and I feel a rush unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Except with Felix.

I smile bloody, thinking about my killer bee and how much he would love to watch this with me. Observe my rapist dying at my hands.

I let go of Stephen and he crumbles to the floor, bleeding and dying while I just stand over him, watching. And I do feel things… But none of them are remorse. I don’t feel guilty for taking his life, because it was mine to take. He owes it to me.

I know this makes me a psychopath. But I don’t care. He stole something much more precious from me… The remains of my childhood. Because after that incident, after escaping with scars from the ropes he’d tied around my body, the child in me was dead. He forced me to grow up before I was ready.

The experience was scarring—mentally and physically—yes, but it’s also what sparked my eternal morbid fascination with human monsters. With people who do heinous things. I suppose I should thank him for that part. Because while it left me feeling unfulfilled for so many years, it also brought me to Alabaster Penitentiary. And to Felix.

My stomach does a backflip.

It feels good, watching Stephen die. As he gives up his last breath, lying in a puddle of blood, I see the memories of myself, tied and scared, twirling up into the air like smoke.

He’ll never be able to do that to anyone else.

And I can’t pretend that’s the reason I did this, but it’s definitely the cherry on top of the sundae of this slaying. A splendid notion to have. Felix will be proud.

The sudden urge to get back to him is insistent, my fingers twitching with the need to touch him. I want to see his face and hear his voice…

Fucking Manuel Blanco.

He’ll get Trevel… But he’ll take me back onto Alabaster Isle regardless of when he shows up. Because now I belong there.

Picking up the broken pieces of the picture frame, I store them to toss somewhere. Then I wipe down everything I touched and locate the keys to Stephen’s car. Since all I have are the clothes on my back, I go to his bedroom and change into some of his—jeans and a white t-shirt. They’re not a perfect fit, and not quite my style, but they’ll have to do.

Just as I’m finishing up, my phone rings, and I breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Sven. What’s the word?”

“So… We found him.” He sounds hesitant.

“Alright… that’s a good thing.”

“Well…”

My teeth grind. “Just spit it out.”

“He’s in Thailand.”

I freeze. “Thailand…”

“Yea. Turns out he immediately got onto a plane.”

Because he’s smart. “Okay… so how are you going to track him down?”

“We already have eyes on him. I just need to get down there and grab him. It’ll take a little longer than I originally quoted you.”

My muscles stiffen. “How much longer?”

“A week. Ten days, tops.”

Nope. “I don’t have ten days. Or a week,” I growl. “I need him now.”

“I’ll try to go as fast as possible, but if we spook him, then we could lose him for good.”

Rubbing my eyes, I let out a long breath. He has a point.

But there’s absolutely no way I’m staying away from Felix for a week. I’ll go back now. Manuel will just have to take me at my word that Trevel is coming.

“Fine. Just… hurry up.” The line is quiet for a moment before I mumble, “How about the other one?”

Sven breathes, “Right. Yea, I found him, too.”

My body goes stiff as I grip my phone tightly in my fist. “And…?”

“Alive and well, living in LA,” Sven tells me, and I release a sturdy breath of relief. “I mean, well enough…”

My forehead lines. “What does that mean?”

“Not sure if he was always like this, but he’s sort of… troubled. Struggling with substance abuse. And he was picked up a few weeks ago for a disturbance in an upscale nightclub in Beverly Hills. Drunk and a little strung out, claiming a guy owed him money… It was a whole thing.”

My stomach is turning. “So he’s a sex-worker.”

“Seems that way,” Sven says reluctantly.

I don’t know what to make of all this. My head is spinning, and all I can think about is Felix.

How he might react knowing Cameron is suffering…

Suddenly, my lungs are a bit tight.

“But he’s okay… right?” I ask, clinging to it. “I just mean he’s not… he won’t get hurt or anything…”

Sven goes quiet again and the silence, with a dead body on the floor next to me, feels exceptionally heavy. “Look, Lem, what do you want me to say?”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I give myself two more seconds to stress about this before I lock it up. “Thank you, Sven. Just… keep in touch. About Trevel.”

Hanging up the phone, I say a quick good riddance to my dead uncle on the floor, and I leave. I’m jittery as I hop into his black Honda Accord—very inconspicuous, it makes perfect sense—and drive away, leaving my first body and Chicago behind. Despite the knowledge I now have, slithering about inside me like a snake, I’m zoned in, and determined. Possibly even more. I’ve made my choice, actions performed, consequences surmised.

It’s all happening, the way it was always made to. And now I’m on my way home. The first real home I think I’ve had since I was a child.

Because I’m a killer now. And if there’s one place I know where brutal murderers are welcomed with open arms… it’s Alabaster Isle.

Felix Harmon Darcey

Age: Twenty-two

Location: Brooklyn Heights, NY

I met him outside of the coffee shop by the park…

The one who got away.

You see, I was riding high from the success of posing Lee. The cops, the FBI, the entire city of New York… even much of the country was in a tizzy.

I was famous.

And the cops hated me. Loathed me.

I mean, they were highly pissed off. After all, they’d spent the last year linking my crimes based on a psychological profile—you know, that Mindhunter stuff—but they had no physical evidence. No murder weapons. No DNA.

Those were the things I made sure never to leave behind. Because those were the things that got you caught. Well, that and a body, which I must admit, I became rather grandiose with my scattering about.

Leaving Lee Turnov on the Rockefeller Center tree was my Sistine Chapel, my symphony forty-one… My Citizen Kane. It was the masterpiece that took me from unknown monster lurking in the shadows to having my kills listed alongside the motherfucking murder of Sharon Tate.

He wasn’t even my last kill. I’d brought home a couple more guys in the last few months, but all anyone cared about was Lee Turnov—the bloody Christmas decoration.

Their attention was being held by him, and it was a good thing. Because I was definitely still in business. Still doing my thing, working at the bookstore three days a week, then at night, following guys around the park.

The city was my playground.

And that was when I saw it in the paper…

City Cowers Under Threat of The Carver.

The Carver.

That was me!

Move over Son of Sam!

Seriously… Someone actually wrote that in the New York Times. That whoever was committing these heinous acts was a thousand times more depraved than David Berkowitz could ever be.

I was walking on air. Shimmering, like I’d been dipped in diamonds. Sure, I’d known who I was for the better part of four years at that point. I’d been actively killing since I was eighteen, chopping up bodies, carving their faces. I knew inside that I was The Carver… But you don’t give yourself a nickname, like that hack Berkowitz.

You sit back and let the New York Times pick it for you.

Finally, I was being recognized! At long last—and at only the tender age of twenty-two—I’d made a name for myself. Made an impression.

I wasn’t invisible… I was a star.

And in all honesty, in that moment, while I scoured that newspaper article so thoroughly I couldn’t even blink, I had to actively stop myself from running over to the police station and turning myself in.

It was a brief, knee-jerk sort of reaction, which vanished after only a few seconds. But still… My first thought was, I want them to know who’s doing this.

I wanted credit. I wanted my name, Felix Darcey, to be linked to this badass nickname, The Carver.

But a lustful distraction stole me when I saw him.

Henry Liu… He was walking out of the coffee shop I’d just come from, also holding a coffee and a paper. He wasn’t really paying attention to anything around him, because he was too busy reading that headline. The one about me.

My eyes lingered on him while my pulse thrummed in my neck, fingers gripping the items in my hands a little too tightly. He was very attractive, dark-haired, sharp angles. He was wearing a sleeveless shirt which showed off his immaculate biceps, fitted enough to tease even more glorious muscle underneath.

It was summer, but I remember that day wasn’t stifling. Just warm enough that I felt like I could melt with this gorgeous man. And that was when I realized I could never turn myself in. I could never allow myself to be caught.

I needed killing far too much.

My victims were a part of me. I wasn’t so arrogant to think I could be famous without them… No, no. Without them, I wouldn’t be The Carver.

So I decided I would like to spend the afternoon following Henry Liu. Because after the rage I’d taken out on Lee Turnov—who was, in fact, a pedophilic child abuser—and the stress I’d gone through getting him posed on that goddamn tree all by myself, I had to figure I was due for a few more months of relaxation.

I was due for someone sweet and beautiful, like Cameron, whom I could fawn over in the bath. I was ready for my next victim.

And apparently, he was ready for me. Because the universe sent him walking directly into me.

“Oh, shit! I’m so sorry.” Henry had fumbled after bumping into me on the sidewalk. He checked his coffee, then my shirt frantically. “I didn’t spill on you, did I??”

My lips curved into a pleasant smile. He was so kind, and he smelled fantastic. “Just a little, but it’s no harm.” I gave him a quick up-and-down, before murmuring, “I’m Felix.”

His look of concern faded off as he appraised my face, a grin of interest covering his lips as well. “I’m Henry.”

In the back of my mind, I knew this meet-cute style prologue wasn’t a great idea. I never picked guys up in broad daylight, especially with so many witnesses around. The streets of Brooklyn Heights were bustling with people on this gorgeous Sunday afternoon, which wasn’t ideal.

But then I was also riding high on my newfound nickname. I was cocky, viewing myself on an elite list of sick humans somehow deemed celebrities in this twisted country.

And unfortunately, the part I seemed to be forgetting in that moment was that every single one of those guys had been caught.

But all that took a backseat in my mind as I inched closer to Henry, glancing down at the paper in his hand. “It’s crazy, right? What this guy has been doing…”

Henry’s dark lashes fluttered as he nodded at me, releasing a flustered sigh. “I know! I was just reading about it… I mean, that Rockefeller Center thing was disturbing.”

Elation fizzled in my gut. “So sick. And it was everywhere for months.”

“It was,” Henry agreed, though I sensed a little more morbid fascination than disgust in his tone and features. “You couldn’t turn on the TV without seeing them hoisting that body down from the tree…”

I ground my teeth together to keep myself from grinning. “Hopefully they catch him soon.”

“Yea.” Henry nodded along. “I know. I’d like to be able to walk around at night without looking over my shoulder every two seconds.”

My eyes subtly dipped over his arms and torso. “From the look of you, I think you could handle yourself.”

Biting down on the inside of my cheek, I prayed for a positive reaction to my flirting. Granted, straight guys didn’t usually engage for this long, though I’d had a few bi-curious victims in the last eighteen months or so. Still, I could feel myself attaching to the idea of Henry. My heart was reaching out for him as my next Cameron-fill-in. That yearning I could never truly sate.

And when he grinned and bit his lip, I knew I was in.

He’ll look so good in my bathtub.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. “That’s what the gym is for, right? Training to defend yourself against serial killers…”

I chuckled. “Maybe you can protect me.” I leaned in a bit closer and whispered, “From the big bad Carver.”

I felt a shift in his breathing as his eyes dropped to my mouth.

“You wanna take a walk with me?” I asked him, hopeful.

At first, I sensed some mild apprehension amidst the intrigue, as if meeting strange men and immediately hanging out with them wasn’t his normal thing. But he must have seen something in me that he liked, because he gave me a light smile and said, “Sure. I’d love to.”

We walked through the park together for a bit after that, talking and finishing our coffees. And when we grew closer to my apartment, I asked him if he’d like to come up.

He was hesitant, and looking back at it now, of course he was. I was coming on much stronger than I ever had before, which should have been a red flag for me as much as it was for him. But I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I had this need crawling up my gut, this itching desperation to add him to my collection. If all went accordingly, he would be number thirty-five, and I was all but salivating for it.

The high from my newfound fame was clouding my judgment. We’d spent even more time talking about the killer on the loose, so that by the time we got near my apartment, I was keyed up and ready to explode.

I got Henry to agree to come upstairs by telling him I just wanted to change my shirt, since he’d spilled coffee on me. Kind of like a mild form of guilt-trip. And he bought it.

The sun was just setting as he came upstairs to my apartment with me. And after that, things got a little hazy.

While he was obviously tense, he still let me kiss him. And he kissed me back. We ended up making out on my couch for a while, and the whole time, all I could think about was that article. The nickname.

I am The Carver, I kept telling myself, over and over again in my head.

That was when I grew more aggressive. I wanted to get Henry naked so that I could feel his flesh, but he was hesitating. I could tell he liked it, but he was nervous about moving too fast. He obviously wasn’t like the other guys I brought home, who were always looking for casual sex.

This guy was too sweet, innocent. It began to fuck with my head a little.

And the next thing I knew, I was choking him.

The look on his face when my hands drifted up to his throat and tightened was unlike anything I could have dreamt up. I saw the moment it dawned on him, the look in his eyes when he realized that the killer we’d been talking about all afternoon was on top of him.

I could see it on his face, the awareness. The Carver was going to kill him.

I used my hands, which I hadn’t done in a while, like I had something to prove. I wanted to steal the life of this beautiful man, and keep it for myself like a trophy. And I wanted to do it bare-handed.

Henry was really freaking out. He was fighting and struggling against me with all his might. But I had much more experience in killing than he had in being killed. We somehow ended up on the floor, and I was digging my hands into his throat so hard, I could see blood vessels popping. Those red burst capillaries in his eyes… It was brutal.

My hands were exhausted, but I managed it. Finally, after several minutes, he went limp beneath me, and I slumped over.

“Wow, baby…” I whispered, pushing the sweat-slicked hair away from his temples. “You made me work for it, huh?”

The satisfaction rolled over me like a tidal wave. My heart was pounding, adrenaline coursing through my veins like potent drugs as I kissed his neck. My lips and hands were all over him, really cherishing the feel of his body. I touched his abs and his chest—I’ve always had a thing for torsos—while kissing his lips tenderly, licking the deep bruises already forming around his throat.

It felt wonderful. It was just what I needed.

I’d never been happier.

Until I remembered that I still had a few pieces of number thirty-four in the closet.

“Fuck!” I’d grumbled to myself, jumping up and stalking over to my hall closet, whipping the door open.

Sure enough, there was Nick’s head, staring at me. Gazing up with that horrified expression I’d tried to fix with my blade.

I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten about him. I’d already thrown out most of him in separate garbage bags and different dumpsters behind restaurants and bodegas all around the area. But the heads I usually liked to save for last. I just liked having them around. Sometimes I would talk to them… When Want wasn’t feeling particularly chatty.

In my adrenaline-fueled haze, I decided I would just have to find time to get rid of Nick’s head before I got rid of Henry. It was the right thing to do.

I brought Henry into the bathroom and put him in the bath. I cleaned him up, as I usually did, which was my favorite part. His body was so nice, and he had the smoothest skin. I couldn’t even help but rub myself on him until I came.

After that, I got dressed, cut the article out of the New York Times and hung it up on my fridge, turned up the Tears For Fears and got ready to work.

Only another problem presented itself… No more garbage bags.

“Great…” I’d mumbled sarcastically, stepping into my shoes. “I have to run to the corner,” I told all of them. Nick, Henry, and Want. To Want specifically, I said, “Keep an eye on them, please.”

He ignored me, which fizzled irritation in my veins. He was just mad about me picking up Henry the way I did. Want had a tendency to get pissy when I didn’t do things his way.

“Stubborn brat,” I’d murmured on my way out of the apartment.

I was gone for only about twenty-minutes. But when I got back…

Henry Liu was gone.

After Henry Liu escaped, I was sure it was over for me.

As soon as I got back and saw that he wasn’t in the tub, I went into panic mode. I ran out of the apartment, following the trail of dripping water he’d left like breadcrumbs, searching frantically for him for all of five minutes, until I finally spotted him.

Walking naked down Atlantic Ave.

He was clearly disoriented. It was obvious from the sort of zombie-like shuffle he was doing, and the fact that he hadn’t even bothered trying to put on clothes.

I looked around to see if anyone was paying attention, trying to get close to him, but then not wanting to draw any attention to myself. But the good thing about the city has always been how little people seem to notice the strange and unusual. I suppose when you live in a place where people scream on street corners, wearing clothing made of garbage, have sex on the subway and use the stations as their own personal bathrooms, seeing a guy walking naked down one of the busiest streets in Brooklyn is just another day in NYC.

As long as he didn’t get in anyone’s way, they’d probably never even notice him.

It had worked in my favor up until that point, but my luck was about to run out. I was only a few feet from Henry when a cop cruiser just so happened to drive by.

I quickly ducked around a corner while they came to a screeching halt with their lights on, jumping out of the car to check on the naked man with the wounded neck. I was jittering down to my marrow while I watched them calling the EMTs. I knew I needed to get out of there, but I also needed to know how bad it was.

And yes, it was bad. But as I listened closely, I heard the two cops conversing about how Henry Liu was unresponsive to their questions, and he couldn’t really speak.

Some minor relief washed over me. He must have suffered a stroke or something from lack of oxygen when I strangled him. I still couldn’t even believe he was alive. Henry Liu was a fighter for sure. Unfortunately, it just made me like him even more.

Once the ambulance arrived and they took him away, I scurried back to my apartment and got ready to do some major cleaning. I even thought about moving, since it was only a matter of time until Henry remembered where I lived.

But as I spent the next two days scouring every surface of my apartment with bleach, I fell into a hole of nostalgia.

I didn’t want to leave apartment 213. It was my home. It’s where I discovered my true self. If the walls could talk, they would have needed intense therapy.

I fell into a dazed depression after that. A week passed when I didn’t leave my apartment, acting like a manic crackhead or something, peering through my blinds every two minutes at every sound I heard.

And naturally that was when Want decided to speak up again.

You know what I’m going to say, right??

My jaw clenched in annoyance. “Yes. Of course I know what you’re going to say.”

You’ve become too cocky. Anyone could have seen you with Henry Liu that day, and you know nothing about him. What if his parents are super rich, and will stop at nothing to find out who did this to their son—

“I said I know!” I roared at him, stomping over and getting up in his face. “You don’t think I know that?? I fucked up, okay?! Jesus…”

Want was quiet for a moment after that, while I stewed in my feelings.

“He’s too fucked up to talk,” I grumbled eventually. “And even if he does, his brain is like mush. I’ve read up on it… Memory loss is a common symptom of severe asphyxiation. Cut off the oxygen to the brain and it’s like wiping them out.”

Yea, but not permanently.

“You don’t know that!” I growled. “Don’t be a know-it-all, Want. Nobody likes that.”

His white, emotionless face glared at me. I’m just telling you… Things are going to change because you were too impatient.

I was seething. But I knew he was right.

The only thing was, it didn’t happen right away.

For two weeks after Henry Liu escaped, I waited for the cops to burst my door down. But it never happened.

There had been minor mention of him on the news, wherein they said he was in the hospital, in critical condition from the injuries sustained during the attack. Basically, they suspected I was responsible, but they needed Henry Liu to help them find me. And he was unresponsive.

And so even though I knew the best course of action would be for me to, at the very least, move, I didn’t. Because Want was right… I was overly cocky.

And I was right to feel that way, too. Because more and more time passed, weeks turned to months, and still, nothing had happened. According to the papers, Henry Liu was awake and finally due to leave the hospital. But he had suffered major memory loss.

It was looking like I was in the clear.

Until October 30th.

It was the day before Halloween, and I was excited. I had just killed my thirty-fifth victim—James Van Gerry—and I was all geared up to leave his body parts in a cemetery as my own form of celebration. I’d been out all day, running errands in a bit of a fugue state, and when I got back to my neighborhood, I stopped at the bodega to grab something to drink.

That was when I saw it.

A composite sketch… of my face.

I froze. My entire body went stock still as I stood in line, gawking at the stack of newspapers, all of which had the same image on the front fucking page.

Me.

“Move it, pal. Let’s go,” some asshole behind me barked, reminding me of my surroundings.

Fidgety, I stepped up to pay. The man behind the counter was giving me a strange look, zipping a chill up my spine while I shakily pulled out a five-dollar bill and slid it to him. I watched as his eyes moved to the newspaper sitting right beside him.

The police sketch on the front page, which was so clearly me, it wasn’t even funny. They got it all… My face, bone structure, the glasses… Even my hair looked exactly the way it did at that moment.

Angling my face to the ground, I darted out of the store without even grabbing my change. I could feel eyes on me everywhere, like hot, itchy splotches on my skin. People were staring at me.

Normally, I would have walked home, but I desperately needed to avoid being glared at by passing strangers on the sidewalk. So I hopped on a bus.

As soon as I got on, though, I realized it was a mistake.

There were at least three people sitting right in front, reading the newspaper with my picture on the front page. An old woman glanced up at me where I was standing, gripping the yellow pole for dear life. Her eyes fell to the paper, and she flipped slowly back to the front page. Then peered back up at me.

Her eyes widened.

I needed to get off the bus.

At the next stop, I jumped off, all the passengers leering at me as I power-walked up the block, struggling to be as inconspicuous as possible while practically running. I kept my head down, even pulled my glasses off my face while I walked as swiftly as possible. I couldn’t see well without them, but I didn’t care. I needed to get the fuck out of there, but it was no use.

People were spotting me left and right. Murmurs began to assault me from all sides…

Is that him??

It must be.

It looks just like him.

That’s that guy, isn’t it??

The serial killer…

That’s him!

The Carver!

He’s heading toward the park!

The voices were so loud, they were echoing off the inside of my skull as I jogged across the street, to the entrance of Cobble Hill Park.

And then they started chasing me.

At a distance, of course. No one was outright coming up to me, but they were definitely following me, and it was obvious. I was being chased through town like Frankenstein’s monster. The people of New York City, wielding pitchforks.

They were pissed.

My heart was surging inside my chest, blood rushing in my ears while I picked up running, shivering from head to toe with desperate fright. I tried my hardest to lose them, but when I came to the exit of the park, I was met with a wall of police officers and FBI agents.

I stopped.

I gulped.

People were shouting all around me, noise as loud as thunder, pure chaos from all angles. My heart went still.

Guns aimed, the lasers from their scopes pointed at my chest and my face.

I lifted my hands slowly.

And that was it. The day I died.

I wish I was dead.

The word ache doesn’t even cut it anymore. My whole body is straight-up throbbing.

My wrists have long since gone numb, raw and bleeding from being cuffed to a drainpipe, which just so happens to be the exact height off the ground as me with my arms up over my head, plus a few miserable inches. And those inches are what have my toes just barely able to touch the ground. Meaning the handcuffs around my wrists are basically supporting my body weight, digging into my flesh the entire time I’ve been trussed up like this, which by my estimation has been at least forty-eight hours.

I’m not sure, though. I passed out for a while there.

They’ve had me like this since Manuel Blanco told me that Lem left me… So not only is my body in physical agony, but also my heart has packed up and moved out.

It’s funny… In so many things I do, I find myself lacking emotion. The way people are supposed to feel about things, I don’t. So you’d think that would make having my heart smashed to bits a walk in the park, being that I’m supposed to be a cold, unfeeling reptile person.

But on the contrary… The pain of falling in love with someone like Dr. Love, someone so elusive and difficult to pry affection from, is a million times more excruciating than my bloody wrists. Or my aching back and legs, my sore jaw from the ball-gag in my mouth… My stomach that’s eating itself from starvation and dehydration.

Losing Lem is so much fucking worse, than all of it.

Especially because all I’ve had is time to think. I’ve been tied up here in this dank, dingy room that reeks of mold, crusted blood, and stale ocean water, blindfolded and gagged, and the only thing I can see behind my tired eyes is his face.

The way his pupils blow out when he realizes he’s turned on by something as filthy and depraved as sucking cum out of my dick, like it’s a straw in his vanilla milkshake, or smearing our blood together on my naked flesh like the paint of two stark-raving mad artists. The way his perfectly plush lips part and shiver out his breaths when he’s up to his nuts in me. How he’ll link our fingers together, and whisper growly commands in my ear.

How he always gazes deep into my eyes, never wavering in that intense contact, as if he’s trying to read the data stored up in my mind with his robot powers.

But mostly, I just can’t stop fucking thinking about how my feelings for him are epically different from what I’ve felt for anyone else. He’s not like Cameron, or Emmanuel, or any of the others. He’s so spectacularly, tragically alive in my world, when the rest of them are dead memories, chopped up and discarded remnants left only for the slideshow of The Carver.

Lemuel Love belongs to Felix Darcey.

Or… he did. Past tense.

Because he’s gone, and now I’m going to spend the rest of my probably short existence being punished for my crimes. And not in the fun way, like Lem does. This shit happening right now is brutal torture. And I think I can only hold on for so long before I bite the bullet and swallow my own tongue.

If it weren’t for the ball-gag, I probably would have already done it.

This is no life… And there is no life here without him.

While I’m contemplating ways to kill myself tied up like this, I hear the creak of the heavy door. I have to assume it’s Templeton. He’s the one who put me here two days ago, or whenever, and I know he’s been back since just to watch me. Stare at me like the useless fucking creeper he is. I really have no idea where Johansson is, or why this ginger asshole is in charge all of a sudden. But I guess that’s for them to know and me never to find out.

What’s even the point of the blindfold?? It’s not like there’s anything to look at in this stupid room, anyway.

My head is heavy, temples pounding as it hangs forward, my neck too tired to even hold it up anymore as I listen to the footsteps of someone approaching me. I can feel them circling me, probably observing the state I’m in, the discomforts they’ve forced on me with some misguided pride—like it really takes a lot of talent to do this to someone.

The tickling trickle of blood and spit running like a slow stream from my mouth around the large ball strapped in there is the same sort of sensation as the blood dribbling down my arms from my wrists. And then how could we forget the piss that had to run down my leg hours ago when I finally gave in because I just couldn’t fucking hold it anymore. It feels like it might be almost dry by now, but who even fucking knows. This shit is just so awful, and degrading—again, not in the good way—and I swear to God, if I ever get out of these cuffs, this fucker is going to rue the day…

“I told you…” a voice sort of whispers and my head flings in its direction, not that I can see anything.

Even though it was quiet, it’s still familiar as the voice of my least favorite person on earth, Dr. Templeton. But something about the way he said it makes me feel like we might not be alone in here.

“Mmm mmffmm…” I try grunting over the obstruction in my mouth, which is pointless. But I just want him to know that I hate him. In my mind, I’ve already explored the most extravagant ways to sever his head from his body, and then creative uses for it afterward.

I could go for some DIY-type crafting, like my boy Ed Gein.

Suddenly, my pants are being yanked down. I flinch, but I have nowhere to go. I’m just dangling here like an asshole with my dick out.

The cold air stings my exposed flesh as my pants and the boxers Lem got for me hang around my shackled ankles. My pulse speeds up, adrenaline kicking in with my instinctual fight response. I don’t know what this fuckface is planning to do with my lower half exposed, but I’m sure it’s not good.

“See?” Templeton says, and now I definitely don’t think he’s talking to me.

But I don’t hear anyone else, and I can’t fucking see. My face lifts and pivots, but it’s too dark to even make out any shadows through the damn blindfold.

I flinch again when his fingers brush my pelvis as he plucks the hem of my t-shirt, lifting it slowly. Blood is rushing in my ears like a waterfall while I listen for any sign of who else is in here, but I hear nothing. My t-shirt is lowered back down…

As if they’re observing me? Appraising me??

I rumble again from behind the ball-gag, and Templeton goes, shhh.

Fucking asshole.

I hear a few light footsteps as someone else approaches. And then a click. It’s a distinctly familiar sound. A camera.

They’re taking pictures of me?? What in the actual fuck?!

I squirm around, letting out a desperate groan because it just digs the cuffs deeper into my wrists and even though I can barely feel them anymore, it still somehow hurts. The pain is so strong it’s radiating up and down my arms.

I sense Templeton walking around my left side until he’s behind me, and a frightening awareness settles in my gut. I swallow hard at the knowledge that I’m seriously fucked right now. Literally.

A rubber glove snaps. “You know, Felix… You’re lucky.” Oh, is that right, asshole? “I told my colleague here about how much you enjoyed that last experiment we did together.” His lips brush my ear and I shudder in disgust. I didn’t enjoy it, you nasty old fuck! “And how surprisingly enjoyable it was for me to help you with that. So he suggested we try something similar. If you cooperate here, we’ll consider letting you down. Sound good?”

I groan and choke from behind the gag, trying like hell to scream at him. No! Not fucking good. I swear to God, I will carve your eyes out with a rusty spoon and feed them to you!

But of course, he doesn’t get any of that. Instead, I hear more clicking, pictures of me being taken while Templeton pushes my legs apart as far as they’ll go with the shackles. Then I hear some rustling. I’m not sure what it is, but my adrenaline is peaking, and in the blink of an eye, I’m just exhausted.

I’m so fucking tired, I don’t even want to fight. There’s no point, anyway. He’s going to do whatever he wants to me, and there’s nothing I can fucking do about it. I should just take the punishments I deserve because I’m a monster.

My heart is still racing, because my body obviously doesn’t like what’s happening as I feel hands gripping my ass cheeks and spreading me. Every muscle in my body is tense as hell, my head slumping forward while I close my eyes behind the blindfold and just pretend I’m somewhere else.

In the woods… with Lem. In that garden, surrounded by plants and yellow Dahlias. I smell them… I feel his soft lips on mine.

A whimper of agonizing devastation leaves me as I’m entered from behind. A hard, forceful thrust, barely lubricated and showing of no mercy. Thankfully, I’m a bit too high, and he can’t get all the way in. Plus, the dick is obviously not very impressive, so there are only a few inches in me.

But still… I don’t want it. I hate it, in fact.

It’s covered in latex—at least we have that. I can feel it, moving in, desperately trying to go deeper as he lets out a disgustingly satisfied noise that makes me retch. The clicking of the camera keeps going while he ruts up into me and I just think about killing myself.

I pray for death, to whomever wants to listen. God, or the Devil, or Death himself, with his scythe…

Someone needs to come and take me away now. I just can’t do this anymore.

Tears seep from my eyes, absorbing into the blindfold. I feel so sick to my stomach at the feeling of what’s happening that I think I might throw up. And then an idea flickers…

If I throw up with this ball-gag in my mouth, then I could choke on my own vomit. It’ll probably be a painful way to go, but anything is better than what I’m feeling right now.

Templeton is saying things, but I’m not listening, because it’s all nonsense about yea, take it, and your ass feels so good, and blah blah just fucking get it over with.

Succumbing to the nausea rising inside me, I urge my body to react to this sickening experience by producing bile. I haven’t eaten in days, so I doubt there will be much. I just need it to be enough for me to choke.

I’m full-blown crying now, just sobbing because even though I’m a lifeless husk, I can still feel everything.

I don’t want to feel this. I don’t fucking want this…

I’m sorry, Lem. I wish I could hold on for you, but I can’t. I don’t want to live anymore.

My body is jerking around with his movements, the cuffs scraping along the metal pipe while I waver in and out of consciousness.

But then a loud slam perks me back up.

I feel Templeton jump behind me. Then he mutters, “Oh, fuck,” pulling out fast and backing away.

What’s happening??

I wish I could fucking see, but it’s all black. All I have are the sounds of someone saying, “Please, wait—” and then a thump.

Something crashes onto the floor, and I hear a bunch of grunting. Footsteps… At least two people.

What in the hell is going on?!

There’s a lot of shuffling, stomping and more footsteps, before a voice rumbles, “Where you think you’re going?”

My heart leaps so hard against my ribs, it shakes my whole body.

Lem.

Holy fuck, he’s here. That’s him! I know it.

“Listen, j-just wait,” I hear Templeton pleading, voice audibly trembling in fear. “We can talk about this—”

His words turn to a grunt at the sound of what is obviously Lem’s fist hitting his face. I hear it over and over while I hang here, shaking and heaving for breath.

“Stay down, dog,” Lem growls.

I hear a lot more shuffling, and a few muttered curses, before I feel him. But then his scent immediately envelops me, the sheer warmth of him standing in front of me bringing on a wave of delight to wipe away all the terribleness I just experienced.

He’s here. He came back for me.

He saved me.

He pulls my pants up first—my Lem, the gentleman—then he removes the ball-gag. My jaw is so sore from being held open like that for so long, it hurts to close my mouth. I spit out some blood, hoping I didn’t get it on him. But he doesn’t seem to care. He simply tugs the blindfold off of me, immediately wrapping his large warm hands around my jaw to hold my face as he does.

My eyes try to adjust, but it’s hard because it’s so dark and I’m still crying. I don’t even care. I won’t try to act hard, because it doesn’t matter. Breaking the fuck down, I whimper out ragged sobs while Lem folds my body against his.

“Felix, baby.” His voice shakes with emotion, large palm cradling the back of my head while I shiver in his arms. “I want to hold you forever, love. I never want to let you go, especially not now, but I have to get you down from here. I need to get you down right now, baby. Your wrists are bleeding.”

I sniffle and nod, forcing my head back to croak, “Okay. Yes, please. Get me down.”

He leaves me, my body withdrawing within seconds as he rushes over to the body slumped on the floor, which my fuzzy vision assumes is Templeton. I don’t have my glasses, but my eyes have mostly adjusted, and I find Lem digging through Templeton’s pockets for the keys to the cuffs and shackles.

He locates them then comes back to me and I’m glad his face is blurry, because I don’t want to see anything like pity on there. But when he gets up close enough for me to make out his lines, it’s not pity. He’s not looking at me like a victim. He’s just worried about me because he cares.

Everything feels thick and sluggish inside me, my heart struggling to pump me back to life. There’s a glimmer inside my chest, a ray of sunlight in the darkness, spreading renewed fervor through my veins, because my Dr. Love is back.

He’s really here.

He unlocks my cuffs and immediately grabs me around the waist, hoisting me on his large body as my arms fall to drape around his shoulders. “Hang onto me, baby. I’m gonna bring you over to the wall so you can lean on it while I take the shackles off.”

I nod with my face resting on his shoulder, inhaling the longest breath of his scent like the freshest air from high atop a mountain. The soft roughness of his dreadlocks on my cheek is euphoric right now, mixed up with the sweet, masculine smell of him. The feel of his strength, all his hard muscles with us chest to chest… It’s my favorite feeling in the world.

I’m complete; whole again. He’s putting me back together. Stitching up all my nasty cuts.

When I feel my back connect with a concrete wall, I pull off him again so that he can bend and remove the shackles around my ankles. But movement catches both of our eyes. The guy who’s not Templeton, who had also been lying on the floor, is stumbling to his feet and scrambling out the door. He takes off running away so fast, if he were a cartoon witch, there would be bobby pins lingering in the air behind him.

Lem scoffs and shakes his head. “Fucking idiot. Where does he think he’s gonna go??”

I snort out a laugh, and he looks up at me. Our eyes connect, but I can’t really see him well without my glasses and the fog of lingering tears in my eyes. Still, I feel that amber, glowing as he stands up slowly, only an inch of space between us. Both of our chests are moving with harsh breaths, bumping together while his mouth hovers over mine.

“You came back for me,” I whisper.

He nods. “Of course I did. I don’t think I know how to live without you anymore, Felix Darcey.”

My heart melts in my chest while his lips brush mine. But then a groan steals the moment, and our attention.

“I want to kiss you breathless right now, but I don’t want this one getting away,” he croons.

I nod in agreement, eyes going to Templeton, who seems to be waking up from the state of unconsciousness that Lem apparently put him in.

He burst in here and knocked two guys out cold for me?? Wow… He’s like Idris Elba or something.

He stalks over to Templeton and puts a foot on his throat. “Don’t move.” He glances up at me. “Baby, will you grab those handcuffs, please?”

The haze clears a bit as I realize that I’m free, and my rapist is in front of me. Just like I’d been wishing for…

It’s like my prayers were answered. And this is my gift.

Twisted thrill rises inside of me, The Carver waking up from his dormant state. My body is hot-wired back to life, running on adrenaline as I push past the pain of even moving to walk over and grab the cuffs.

I nod at Lem. “Stand him up. I’ll cuff him to the pipe.”

Lem lets out an appreciative sound. “Good thinking, gorgeous.”

I’m physically unable to stop the corny smile from gracing my lips while I watch my man hauling Templeton up like his body weight is nothing. “I’m so damn happy you’re here.”

Lem grins—it’s strained, but still beautiful—and murmurs, “Me, too.”

He stands Templeton up, who seems to snap back into consciousness, struggling while I attempt to handcuff him to the same drainpipe he had me hooked to for fucking days.

“No! Wait wait, please—”

Lem open-palm smacks him across the face.

I can’t even help the laugh that bursts. “Oh, shit! Bitch smack.”

It was so hard it stunned Templeton, and I use the opportunity to cuff him. Then I rush over and grab the shackles, fastening them around his ankles.

Letting out a shaky breath, exhausted from even those few movements, I glance down at my wrists. Lem dashes over, taking them in both of his hands.

“We need to get these cleaned up and bandaged,” he says firmly.

Peeking up at his face, my heart pumps wildly with so much love I’m overwhelmed by it. I’m fucking overjoyed that he’s back. It was only a few days, but I thought he’d be gone forever. That’s what the Warden said, anyway.

I think he can tell my mind is running wild right now, because he says, “We have a lot to talk about, baby. But first things first…”

My eyes flit right. “Him.”

Lem nods. No hesitation. “He’s yours.”

My lips curl sadistically while all the many things I could do to this man shimmer through my brain.

“You can’t do this!” Templeton yelps, pure terror in his eyes. “Felix, think about this…”

I bend to pick up the ball-gag. “Would you get me my glasses?” I ask Lem, then grab Templeton on the jaw, hard enough that he flinches. “I want to see this.” Squeezing it harder, I grunt, “Open wide, asshole.”

He forces his lips shut, but Lem literally stuffs his fingers into his mouth, grabbing his top and bottom rows of teeth with both hands and yanking his fucking mouth open so I can stuff it with the ball-gag.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” I whisper to my sexy, scary doctor.

He brushes his fingers through my hair, then drops a kiss on my lips. “I’ll go get your glasses. And some tools.”

I make out a beaming smile and his brows wiggling at Templeton before he storms off, leaving me chuckling.

“He’s really great,” I sigh. “We get along well.”

Templeton is mumbling and groaning behind the ball-gag, like I was only a matter of minutes ago.

“Oh, how the tables have turned.” I reach for his shirt, ripping some material off the bottom as he jumps. I use it to wrap up my wrists temporarily so I can play before I need to seek medical attention. “You know, that’s the risk you run when you play games with someone like me, little prick. That’s what I’m gonna call you from now on, by the way. Little Prick. Because I could barely feel you inside me.” I show him a pleased grin as his eyes glower angrily, though they’re still lined with fear, which is immensely satisfying. “Anyway, like I was saying, you certainly had your fun at my expense. But if you’re gonna pull something like that, you gotta know for sure—like, be one hundred million percent certain—there’s no way I’ll survive it. Otherwise, you’re putting yourself in a real bad position. Like you are right now.”

I pause and spin, taking a few steps before turning and waltzing back. “You see, Little Prick, you’re my toy now. And cards on the table, I never was great at taking care of my toys.” I chuckle. “I’m telling you; I buried more action figures in my backyard than even seems feasible. I used to do all kinds of things to them… Burn their noses off, amputate arms and legs. Actually, that was probably when I realized that I like to carve things, because I used to dig my razor blade into their plastic flesh… and I freaking loved it.”

My head tilts. “But don’t worry, that’s not all I’m going to do to you. Trust me, we’re gonna make this fun.” Stepping forward, I get close to him again, letting him see my face while I tell him, “I’m going to take everything I can from you, Little Prick. I will keep you breathing just so you can wish you weren’t. I’ll make you pray for death like I was before my man saved me. I promise you, Dr. Templeton,” I growl, coming alive with the words, “you’ll feel every single bit of my hatred for you. Touching me was the worst mistake of your life.”

He’s visibly shaking in fear, already pissing himself. Sheesh, I lasted like two full days before I had to do that… Snot and tears running down his face.

“God, this is gonna be so satisfying!” I laugh.

Lem jaunts back into the room, coming straight to me. He places something on the floor beside us, then sidles up to me, grinning. I bite my lip while he slides my glasses on for me. And voilà! I can see his beautiful face, clear as crystal.

“Mmm… that’s so much better,” I breathe.

“It really is.” He smiles, running a thumb along the black temple tips of my frames. “I’m glad I ordered a few backup pairs for you, since they apparently get lost often.” His face is scolding, but in a teasing way.

“Hey, blame this asshole.” My thumb juts at Templeton.

“Trust me… I do.” Lem’s eyes turn on him, and the scariest look of sickened wrath comes over his face. It’s sort of terrifying, but also arousing as hell. He looks like he wants to tear the man apart with his bare hands. For me.

God, I love his possessive protectiveness. So fucking hot.

Glancing at the floor, I find a black briefcase.

“I brought you some things to play with,” Lem tells me by way of explanation. We both bend as he opens it and my eyes light up, like a psychotic kid in a cannibal candy store.

There are all sorts of sick devices in here. Knives of varying shapes and sizes, clamps, a bone saw, a meat cleaver, rusty nails… even a spoon. Ooh! Just what I wanted.

“What did you do? Clear out the drawers in the exam rooms?” I chuckle.

“Barely. You know how much stuff is in there.” He grins. “Let me know if there’s something else you want, and I’ll grab it.”

My eyes spring to his, and the words just come out. “I love you.”

As soon as they’re out, I want to reach into the air and take them back. I’m nervous as hell, especially because the last time I said something like that, he disappeared.

But before I can start fumbling, Lem whispers, “I… me… too.” His throat dips, eyelashes fluttering. It’s the cutest, sexiest thing I’ve ever seen when he’s flustered. It’s so rare, I wish I had a camera. He takes a long breath. “I love you too, Felix.”

“No, you don’t,” I mumble in disbelief, shaking my head.

His forehead lines, mouth quirking. “Yes… I do.”

“There’s no way.”

“There is a way. Because it’s true.”

“I’m just not seeing how…”

Lem lunges at me, grasping my face to kiss me breathless, just like he promised. He’s tender with it, but still so passionate it does take my breath away.

When he pulls back, a whimper escapes me. “Okay, maybe you do.”

He chuckles, running a hand down my chest to cover my heart. “Now, gut this asshole, babe. I wanna watch you in action.”

An eager smile hijacks my face and I pluck my lower lip between my fingers.

This is gonna be some good old-fashioned, bloody fun.

Over an hour has passed, and Templeton has seen better days.

The things I did to him… They’re melodramatic even for me.

Maybe next time he’ll think twice before raping a serial killer.

Brushing my hair away from my forehead leaves a swipe of sticky blood there that I can feel. Glancing at Lem, I find him grinning. He holds up the camera that the other guy in the room had dropped and takes a picture of me.

“Creating evidence,” I chuckle.

“I’m going to make a scrapbook,” he says, pleased with himself.

My smile sort of fades as I blink at him. “You can… erase the other pictures on there, right?”

Lem gives me a look, stepping up to me slowly. “Of course I will.”

“I don’t want you to look at them,” I insist softly. His brows zip. “I’m serious… It’ll just piss you off more.”

“Baby, I won’t look at them, but I’m just telling you… I already possess the maximum level of hatred for this man.” His eyes flit to Templeton, though there’s a satisfied glimmer at the state he’s in. “And that prick Hassan.” My head tilts curiously. “That’s the other guy who was in the room. He’s some new doctor.”

“What the fuck happened to Johansson?” I ask, my interest finally getting to me.

“He’s still here… I ran into him first when I got back. That’s how I knew where you were. He just sat back and allowed this scumbag free rein over you while I was gone, so as far as I’m concerned, he’s also culpable.” He takes my face in his hands. “I’ll make them all pay for what they did to you.”

I can’t help but smile. “You do remember that I’m a serial killer, right?”

He huffs a laugh, but then goes serious. “Felix, I told you. I don’t believe that warrants things like this. I know you are who you are, and there’s no changing that… But there’s also no changing the parts of you that are good. Like your intelligence, your wittiness, your fierce loyalty… I love all of those qualities. And to be honest, I love the bad ones, too. I love you, whether it’s wrong or right, or really fucking wrong, because I think we know it is.” He grins and I chuckle. “But I don’t care one bit. Meeting you was the highlight of my life.”

My grin widens. “Your life isn’t done yet. There’s still time to make new highlights…”

“I can’t wait,” he breathes the words on my mouth, kissing my lips, then my chin, then my jaw.

We force ourselves to pull apart, because there’s so much left to do, and we need to get a move on.

Lem sighs out of satisfaction, then peeks at the floor. “What do you want to do with the foot?”

I glance at the severed foot beneath Templeton’s body, the measly bandage we used to wrap the wound on his ankle just enough for him not to die already soaking through with blood.

“Leave it for now,” I answer. “We can get it later. I want to stick it into the ground in the garden and make it look like someone’s buried.” I cackle and Lem huffs, shaking his head.

“My sick little monster.” He gives me a salacious sort of expression that sets my blood on fire.

“Don’t even look at me like that right now,” I whine. “I’m filthy and weak, and every time I get hard, I feel like I’m gonna pass out.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” he replies firmly. “Let me get you cleaned up and then I’ll feed you.”

“Sounds beautiful.”

We’re about to leave a bloody and hacked-up Templeton to hang there and rot until we decide to come back for more, when Lem pauses.

He picks up some extremely sharp shears and peeks at me, lifting a mischievous brow. “You mind?”

A thrilling shiver runs through me. “By all means.”

The idea that he wants to participate in this bloodbath is all too exciting for me. As is the devious look in his eye as he stalks toward Templeton. The rapist asshole is barely conscious, slumped and bleeding through his clothes from all the cuts. But when Lem steps up to him and begins unbuttoning his pants, he squirms back to life.

Lem shoves Templeton’s pants down just enough to pull out his flaccid cock. The man is flopping like a fish on a hook, but when Lem stretches his dick out and holds up the shears he goes still, wailing behind the ball-gag.

“In some countries, if you get caught stealing, they’ll cut off your hand,” Lem says in a low growl. “You put this somewhere that belongs to me… which makes you a thief.”

“Attempted,” I hiss. “Trust me, he did not succeed.”

“Never,” Lem agrees, still glaring up at the dangling Templeton. “I just want you to understand why you’re losing your dick, Templeton. Because you fucked with something that’s mine. This is retribution. It’s deserved.”

And then without another second of thought… Snip!

My eyes widen like a reflex, because it’s really hard not to feel that myself in some sense. My hand runs down to my cock, which is growing harder by the second from watching my man maim the fucker who raped me.

Templeton is squealing like a piglet behind the ball-gag, bleeding profusely from the spot where he’s now a eunuch. Goddamn…

“Hand me that gauze,” Lem asks, casually tossing Templeton’s severed dick onto the floor like the trash it is.

I give him some gauze from the supplies, and he wraps up the wound with pressure to keep Templeton from bleeding out. He might die. Either way, I don’t care, but I’d prefer to keep him alive and suffering for much longer. We’ll see.

Lemuel, the utter psychopath who just chopped a dude’s dick off and seems totally unfazed by it, grins at me. “Shower time?”

I have never been more attracted to him than I am right now.

I give him a loving smile and an enthusiastic nod. “Yes, please.”

He packs up the briefcase, then takes my hand, and we close and lock the door to this miscellaneous torture room, wandering the halls of the prison. And to my amazement, it doesn’t look as dark or awful in here as it once did.

With his fingers entwined in mine, things appear brighter. Luminous. This hellhole is just a place where we’re together, and that makes it not so bad.

In fact, I like it. It feels right, like this is where we belong, together.

We make our way through the long halls and corridors, using the keys we found in Templeton’s pocket, since Lem had to return his when he left.

Which brings me to ask, “How did you get the Warden to let you come back? He said once you leave, you leave for good…”

“Turns out I just needed to show him I was serious about staying.” His lips curve in knowing amusement, then he peeks down at me, winking.

I’m intrigued as hell, but I don’t ask. I know he’ll tell me if he wants to. There’s still so much for me to learn about him.

That’s the thing about us… We’re not a regular couple. I don’t even know if we’re a couple at all. But we love each other. I think that’s all that matters. Everything else will happen how it’s going to happen, regardless of where we are or how we do things.

After all, it’s the chaos of the universe…

And we just keep spinning.

Before we get to the East Wing, Lem stops and opens a door. It’s the locker room that the solitary guards use. I remember it from the time Joy let me brush my teeth in here. He brings me inside, gesturing to one of the lockers.

“Your stuff is in there. I moved it before I left,” he says. “Oh, and I added some more things for you.”

Instantly excited, I rush over to check it out. Not only are the showers in here a million times less disgusting than the East Wing showers, but the idea of having things again has me squirming.

Opening the locker, I find my boxers, plus three new packs. One of them catches my eye and I pull it out, immediately grinning wide.

They’re yellow boxer briefs with bees on them.

Biting my lip, my eyes fling to Lem. He’s standing there all gorgeous and coy and obviously trying to disguise how proud of himself he is. “There are matching socks,” he whispers.

“I’m obsessed with you,” I murmur, fully serious.

Continuing on before I maul him, I find a new toothbrush, toothpaste, floss—thank God—tons of soaps and lotions, fancy smelling shampoos and conditioners from the mansion, Tylenol and a nice, big bottle of lube.

I’m sure my grin could be seen from space as I spin to face him. “Are we breaking this open now?”

His eyes light up. But then he purses his lips. “Not until I have proper bandages on your wrists and food in your stomach.”

The way this man wants to take care of me… It’s such a foreign concept, it’s baffling.

Giving right into him, I show him a look, pleading for his closeness, affection, and attention, which he gives me right away, with no argument. He undresses me while I brush my teeth, checking my wrists. They really do look gross, all raw and blistering.

Lem gets undressed himself and brings me into the shower, and as hard as both of our dicks are, he still manages to remain purely professional. He washes my entire body, then he lets me wash him, allowing me to touch him in places I never have before. Leaning up against the wall, he gazes at me with hooded lids while my fingers slide between his legs.

He tenses when I touch his asshole, but he still releases a shakily nervous breath and whispers, “I love you, Felix.”

My lips drop to the scar on his chest. The one that I made. “I love you so much, Lem.” Touching him slowly, I lick the scar, before moving up to the ones on his throat and kissing those. “I love these spots. Your imperfections… Your battle scars. They’re what makes you human, and that’s what I love. I love your mortality and your survival, Dr. Want.”

He breathes softly, and as much as I don’t want to, I pull my hand away from the place where it wants to go further, running it up his erection, which is standing straight, long inches reaching up past his belly button.

“Baby…” I whimper, attaching myself to him. Sealing our bodies beneath the spray of warm water. “I never want to lose you again, not even for a minute.”

“You won’t, my sweet monster.” He kisses my wet hair. “I’m here to stay, I promise.”

Lifting my head, I gaze at him through the slightly fogged lenses of my glasses. “But why would you give up your life for someone like me? How do you know this could even work??”

“Why wouldn’t it?” He slides hands up my sides, holding my waist.

“I can think of thirty-seven reasons…” I mumble.

His chest moves with a small chuckle before he takes my face and forces me to look up at him. “Accepting you, Felix, is accepting the fact that I’ll forever be in the shadows of thirty-seven other men.”

My heart thuds aggressively. And for the first time, ever, I feel a sliver of regret for what I’ve done.

Not because I wish I hadn’t killed them, or because I feel bad. I just want Lemuel Love to be the most special person in my world. I don’t want him to feel like just another obsession of mine.

“You’re different.” I gaze into his amber eyes to convince him I’m serious. “Because you’re still here, Lem. You could never be in their shadows. You’re monumental in my life. You overshadow it all, and that’s exactly what I want. For you to fix me, even if the finished product is still broken… It doesn’t matter as long as you’re holding me together, Want.”

“Felix Darcey.” He sighs my name like it’s his blessing, not a curse, his large hands rushing up my chest to cover my heart and the scars he made there. “If I’m your Want, then you’re my Need.”

I must be all facets of exhausted, because pressure rises behind my eyes. Tears fall, tumbling down my cheeks, but I let them, disguising them as droplets of water while I kiss his mouth, sucking on his lips in desperation, determined to take in as much of him as possible. Like a lifeline, he’s tethered to my beating heart.

We kiss beneath the running water until it goes cold, bodies of flesh and blood and bone pressed together, building a buzzing love.

The brightest electricity.

When we’re finally done in the shower, I sit on the bench in a towel while Lem uses the first aid kit to dress the wounds on my wrists. Once cleaned up, they feel much better, and he says after I eat, I can take some Tylenol.

And I’m just sitting here, loving the attention. It’s all I’ve ever wanted… To be taken care of. Acknowledged and pampered and spoiled. And the bonus fact is that it’s by someone like Lemuel, who doesn’t do things like this ever. For anyone but me, apparently.

Aren’t I just the most special monster in the world??

We get dressed and leave the locker room. But instead of going toward the East Wing, he brings me around the corner to a door I’ve never seen before.

“I want to bring you to the mansion, but because I just got back and I haven’t spoken to Manuel yet, I don’t want to risk stirring things up,” he says. “So for now, I had a new cell made for you.”

I can’t help the puzzled look I’m giving him as he chuckles and pushes the door open. It’s already unlocked?

“Go ahead, baby.” He shoves me along.

Prying my eyes off of him, I peer inside the room. And I’m… shocked.

It’s small, of course, but still bigger than my padded cell. Sort of like the cell I used to be in when I first got here, only this has just one bed. It’s still a cot, but it looks bigger than the bunk beds, or the ones in solitary. And it has fluffy white pillows and a comforter on it.

But that’s not it. There’s also a bookshelf in one corner with a bunch of books, one of those old school small boombox stereos with a CD player, a black rug on the floor in front of the bed, and a table with a chair along the opposite wall.

Honestly, it feels just like a dorm room, like an honest to God bedroom. You’d have no idea this was inside a prison.

My feet guide me inside, mouth hanging open while I explore everything. Feeling the blanket, kicking my shoes off to walk on the rug, checking out the desk and the bookshelf. The books have obviously been hand-picked by Lem, because they’re all things I can easily assume he’s read. Plus, the first two on the top shelf are Mindhunter—his favorite—and Beneficial Brainwashing by my very own Dr. Strange.

“Baby.” His chuckles draw my attention from touching literally everything. “As much as I hate to tear myself away from watching you like this because it’s adorable, I’m going to go grab you some food. You get comfortable, and I’ll be right back.”

Some light anxiety fizzles inside me at the thought of him leaving me here. But then he gives me an assured look, stepping up to the door. I watch him as he twists a lock… On the inside of the door.

I’m fucking flabbergasted right now.

“I can lock myself in??” I gasp. “As in, like… I can lock people out??”

Lem nods, grinning at me like he’s never been happier about anything. “I’m going to get your food, babe. I’ll be back in like fifteen minutes.” He leaves, barking, “Lock this behind me,” on his way out.

Well, I don’t deserve any of this. But I’ll fucking take it.

Fifteen minutes later, there’s a knock on the door.

I’m nervous for only a second before Lem’s rumbly voice comes through. “Delivery from Szechuan Palace.”

I’m giddy as I hop off my new bed and scurry to open the door, finding him grinning and holding up a paper bag, which means Chinese food, and my stomach is rumbling so hard it’s almost knocking me down.

I grab his shirt and haul him in, closing the door and locking it behind him. “You don’t have a key?”

“Gotta find one,” he says, bringing the bag over to the table. “This was an old storage closet I paid Kent way too much to clear out and stock for you.”

My forehead lines. “Why would a storage closet lock from the inside?”

“How should I know. This place is bizarre.” He removes the containers, the familiar smell making my mouth water like crazy.

“Don’t let me eat too fast, or I’ll get sick,” I plead, peering over his shoulder at all the deliciousness.

“It’s not my first day, Felix.” He grins at me. But then his eyes fall to my mouth, and it sort of slides off into this hungry snarl. “Fuck, I need to suck that lip until it’s black and blue.”

“Please,” I shiver. Seriously… fuck the food.

He shakes his head slowly, eyes still stuck on my lips. “Not until you’ve eaten.”

“Yes, sir, Dr. Want,” I growl.

He slips his finger into the waistband of my pants and tugs me until my hips are pressing into his. “Behave, Need.”

A desperate sound leaves me as I drop my forehead onto his shoulder for a second to compose myself.

“Eat, Felix,” he demands.

Even though there’s a chair, we decide to sit on the floor, because the rug is comfortable and it reminds us of when we ate our second meal together in my cell, after I won the blowjob bet. Lem even pulls two cans of Dr. Pepper out of the bag, and there’s no possible way he could know it’s my favorite.

But then he says, “Yes, I do know it’s your favorite. You mentioned it once when you were mindlessly rambling.”

I laugh out loud. “Rude. All my words are important.”

“That they are, baby.” He picks up a paper plate and scoops helpings of orange chicken and Chinese sausage fried rice—my other favorite—onto it.

He hands me the plate first before making one for himself, and I purse my lips to smother the grin of a person who shouldn’t possibly be this happy. “You’ve never been romantic like this for any other guy… right?”

“Baby, I’ve never been romantic like this with anyone.” He covers up a timid smirk.

But my stomach twists in delight. “Can I be the only…?” His eyes lift. “Your only?”

“Felix, you are my only… My everything,” he says with certainty, then nods at the plate in my hands. “Eat, now. I won’t say it again.” My dick throbs at his growly command as I begin shoveling food into my mouth, and he adds, “Slowly.”

Remembering to pace myself, I take smaller bites, though it’s so delicious I feel like I might have a mini orgasm.

Lem says, “Good boy,” and I tremble while we both eat in comfortable silence…

For all of five minutes before he starts the conversation back up again. “Felix, I just need to tell you how sorry I am for leaving you the way I did.” I peek at him in between bites that are so good my toes are wiggling in my new bumblebee socks. “If I had even the slightest idea what would happen…” His voice trails and that same terrifying wrath I witnessed on his face earlier, right before he chopped a dude’s dong off, spirals inside his eyes. “I would have fought harder. I would have forced him to let me stay.”

I reach forward, placing my hand on his thigh to calm him. “It’s okay, baby. I’m resilient. I can endure a lot more than people assume.”

“That’s not the point,” he growls. “To walk into that room and see what he was doing to you…” My throat feels like it’s closing up for a second, but I swallow it down. “Death is too forgiving for him. So I’ll make sure he stays alive to suffer for the rest of his goddamn life for what he did. And I’ll figure out what to do about The Ivory…”

I blink rapidly over wide eyes. “Okay, but just remember, he owns this place.”

“I know,” he sighs, a bit defeated. “He has us by the balls.”

“I wouldn’t say that…”

His head slants. “What do you mean?”

“Think about it.” I grin at him. “The best way to earn a monster’s trust is to get on his side of the fence. And then you can climb inside his head and work your magic from there.” I take a bite. “It’s Beneficial Brainwashing 101.”

He lets out a laugh that warms me all over. “You know, I can’t tell if giving you that book was a good thing or not.”

I chuckle. “Hey, you’re the one seducing a serial killer. I think by extension that makes you the sinister one.”

“Speaking of…” he says after swallowing his bite. “Can I tell you what I did? When I left…”

“If you tell me you did a bunch of rich Dr. Robot-man stuff, I might hit you,” I grumble teasingly and he laughs again.

“Well, I did that too. I sold all my stuff… like my car, my office. Transferred all my clients.”

I gape at him. “Are you… liquidating?”

He breathes a chuckle. “No. I’m here, Felix. I’m staying right here. With you.”

“Oh…” My heart is jumping for fucking joy inside me. “That’s… I mean, it’s your funeral, I guess.”

“Felix…”

“You know I’m ecstatic.” I sigh. “I think you’re insane, and I have no idea how this will work, but I’m… I’m in love with you, and you coming back is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He stares at me for many weighted seconds before he says, “I killed him.”

My lashes flutter. “You killed who now?”

“My uncle,” he replies softly. “The one who—”

“Oh, I remember your uncle. Trust me.” My head is spinning. “You… killed him?” He nods. “Are you sure?”

His lips twist into an adorable little grin. “I slit his throat and watched him bleed out.”

I think my eyes are physically bulging out of my skull like those rubber stress-reliever dolls you squeeze. Lem sets his plate down and inches closer to me.

“It felt good, Felix. It felt so right, and all I kept thinking about was how proud you would be.” His hand slides onto my thigh, strong fingers rubbing me slowly while I freak out a little.

“Okay, so, I just need to know something.” I gulp. “You didn’t do that, like… because of me. Did you?” I turn my face to stare at him.

“Would that be bad?” he asks, taking my plate and moving it off to the side so he can kiss my neck a little. It feels fantastic, but his words are twisting me up.

“Baby, you’re good, though.” I pull away to stop him from distracting me.

“I’m not… Not really,” he rumbles into my side as his fingers slink between my thighs.

“You are.” I inch away again, moving onto my knees so I can face him. “Sure, you’re fucked up. Everyone is. But as far as that line goes… Between moral and immoral… You don’t belong on my side, Lem. Not really.”

His amber eyes shimmer with hurt for a moment, like we’re in the high school cafeteria and I’m telling him he can’t sit with me. “Maybe I don’t belong there, but I had to take that step over the line, Felix. I had to. He doesn’t deserve to walk around free after what he did.” His voice begins to grow frantic and angry. “He needs to pay for his sins. He doesn’t get to just live, not after something like that. Not after ruining me the way he did.”

I nod and take his hand. “Okay, baby. I hear you. And I totally get it. I understand what you’re saying completely. I mean, that’s how I felt about Tom Kline, remember?” He nods in return, yanking me closer to him. I settle into his side while he folds his arms around me. “But he didn’t ruin you, Lem. Not even a little. You’re perfect.”

“Yea, okay,” he scoffs.

“No, I’m serious. Through my eyes, Lemuel Love… You’re as perfect as perfect gets.”

His chest is moving quickly with some rapid breaths as he pulls back to look at me, eyes flickering rich, golden flames. They fall to my mouth and I lick my lips.

“Take me to bed, please, Felix,” he whispers. And something about the way he says it pounds a thrum into my balls like a baseline.

Nothing on the face of the planet sounds better, or more enticing, than having him naked in that new comfy bed with me.

So I jump up and pull him to the bed, and when we get there, he yanks me on top of him. We fall into it lips first, kissing so hard and deep I might drown, but I have no desire to come up for air. His hands are in my hair, and mine are on his chest, cherishing the feel of his huge body beneath me.

“I’ve been dreaming… I dream about you, baby.” I drag my crotch along his, feeling his hardening dick with mine.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” he purrs, stuffing his hands into my pants to squeeze my ass. “I can’t believe we’re doing this. But I want to be the man of your dreams. I need to.”

Lifting his shirt over his head, I kiss down his jaw. He groans when my lips dance across the scars on his throat, tongue fluttering over the warped skin until his hips lift.

I clasp his right wrist and bring it to my lips, kissing the scars there. “Promise, Want?”

Our eyes lock as I do the same to the scars on his left. “I promise, Need.”

My body is quivering all over, heart hurdling inside my ribcage as I work down his chest, licking the scars there too, the ones we made together, before suckling at his nipples. His pecs are so big and firm, soft skin curving over the boulders of his muscles beneath. I can’t even keep myself from just licking everywhere, tasting him while I move down his abs to the outline of his erection pushing through his pants.

Taking his pants down, I keep my eyes with his as I run my lips over the impressive shape of him through his boxer briefs. His eyes fall shut and he exhales, gripping my shoulders while I do it again, licking him through the material.

When I pull them down and slip him into my mouth, I feel him crumbling in an instant.

“Felix…” he pants as I work myself into a trance, sucking him, worshipping him with my lips and my tongue while his fingers tangle in my hair. “Fuck, Felix… that’s so good, gorgeous.”

“Mmm…” My saliva runs down his thick shaft onto his balls and I chase it, licking and sucking at them until he spreads his legs.

Wider. And wider…

And wider. Then he lifts his hips a little.

I peer up at him with watery eyes and his cock spearing my throat, watching as he chews nervously on his lower lip.

“Lick… lower.” His voice is a jagged plea. “Please.”

His tone, the look on his face, his big, beautiful cock flinching in my mouth… Everything about this has me leaking in my pants.

Taking the perfectly plump cheeks of his full ass in my hands, I spread him open and move lower, enough to position myself between his legs and eat. And I do. I fucking feast on him.

This is my first time doing this to anyone in a long time. Probably a couple of years at this point. And doing it to Lem is like a dream. He’s so sexy, and his sounds drive me wild. It’s like sensual music to my ears, listening to him panting and purring while he wraps his long, muscular legs around me. I want this to really work for him since he asked me for it, and he’s being so open and vulnerable with me, which is a rarity.

I want to do whatever I can to please him at all costs.

Fluttering my tongue over his tight hole, I kiss and suck with my lips until I feel him relaxing. And I wonder…

Inching my hand up, I tentatively trace his rim with my fingertip. He lets out an anxious, shivery kind of noise, but leans into it. My mind is already running away with me.

He let me touch him there in the shower… And now he wants more.

Does he want to bottom? Does that make any sense??

He’s a straight guy who’s as rigid as can be…

But then, from my own experience, it’s an addicting sort of bliss that anyone could want.

His hand flies suddenly to the nape of my neck, forcing my face deeper as his hips chase my mouth. “That feels… God, so fucking good.”

“Yea?” I ask, sort of into his body with my eyes on his.

He nods fast. “More.”

Okay, he asked for it. Sucking on my finger, I press it into him gently. He’s tense at first, but when I lick around his rim at the same time, he relaxes just enough for the tip to break through.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he grunts.

“Is that okay?”

“Yea… yes… Deeper.”

So I give him more of my finger, working him slow and easy. But to my surprise, his hips are chasing that now, too.

“Lem…” My voice is hoarse as our eyes meet. “Do you… do you want me to…?” His lashes fan over his dark cheeks. “Because I totally will… But only if you want it.”

His pink tongue slides over his lower lip. “I had him stash lube in here somewhere.”

My stomach flips in excitement. The idea of putting my dick inside the robot doctor… My robot doctor. The straight man… Has me winding up already.

It’s like I’m taking his virginity.

I pull my finger out of him fast and he grunts. “Shit! Sorry. Where do you think it is…?” I scoot over to the edge of the bed and sure enough, it’s wedged between the cot and the wall. A bottle of KY. “Found it.”

“Felix…” he whimpers, that tone catching my attention. He’s never sounded like this before.

“Baby?” I crawl back over him, running my hands up his chest.

“Is it going to…” His voice trails, Adam’s apple dipping in his throat. “Does it hurt a lot?”

I smirk and kiss the worry off his face. “God, you’re sexy. No, not at all. It’s pressure, but like… the delicious kind. Your body will adjust and I promise you’ll feel incredible. Trust me?”

He nods right away. “I do trust you,” he says with his hands on my ass.

“That’s crazy.” I grin, and he chuckles.

“I’m letting a serial killer fuck me… I think we passed crazy a few miles ago.”

I rumble and kiss him deeper, multitasking to squeeze out some lube and stroke it onto my cock. Lem takes over, lubing my erection up good until it’s slippery and my balls are throbbing from the feel of his wet palm squeezing me.

His body is going to be a thousand times tighter… I hope I don’t bust in seconds.

Taking some lube on my fingers, I swipe them between his cheeks, pressing a slick digit into his hole. It swallows me right up… By far the tightest thing I’ve ever felt.

“This… This is gonna squeeze the cum right out of me, baby,” I whine, giving him a second finger.

“Mmmffck.” His head tips back. “Uhh, this is so intense.”

“Are you okay with it?” I pump them in and out gradually.

“Yea,” he gasps. “Yeaa, fuck me, Felix. Slowly. I want to feel every curve of you inside me.”

My cock leaks more precum onto his pelvis. “Lem, I’m not gonna last, baby. Look at what you’re already doing to me.”

He glances down at our dicks pressed together, my precum glistening on him. “You know what I’m gonna say…” He gives me a pointed look.

“Oh, right.” Gliding my fingers through it, I stuff them into my mouth and suck it off.

“Good boy,” he growls, raspy from my fingers in his ass, but still commanding and dominant. I love it so much. “Kiss me, monster. Give me your flavor while you stuff that huge cock into my ass.”

“Fuck.” I kiss him and his tongue sneaks inside, flicking mine to taste.

While our mouths devour, I pull my fingers out of him, then stuff the swollen head of my dick up to his tight entrance.

“Relax, Want,” I whisper on his lips. “And if you say stop, we stop, okay?”

“Felix, I’m not made of glass,” he grumbles. “I’m sure I can handle—”

I give him a nice shove to shut him up and his words melt into a choked moan. My crown breaks through the first ring of his body, his warm ass enveloping me while I nudge farther, serving him half of my cock.

“Uhhfuuckfelixohmygodyesss.” The words come out in a stream as his fingers dig into me so hard I’ll definitely have bruises.

“You like it, Love?” I slide my hand between us, palming his long cock so I can feel it move while my dick disappears in his ass.

“There!” He gasps when I hit his prostate, a whole bunch of precum pulsing out onto his abs. “Right there, right there.”

“Wow… That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” I pull back to ogle the sight with hair hanging in my eyes.

My pelvis presses up against his cheeks, every single inch of me buried inside him, his ass clenching on me, gripping my shaft until I’m falling apart.

“I’m gonna move, baby.” My voice comes out like gravel as I draw my dick back, then lash in again, giving him a nice shallow thrust.

“Oh… fuck,” he sighs, back arching.

“Dr. Love… Goddamn, you look good taking my cock,” I tell him with my chest expanding, gripping his hips and picking up the pace just a bit.

I wind back, then drive in, watching my dick in awe, all shiny with lube as it pulls out, then pushes inside with the rocking of my hips’ rhythm. Lem’s eyes struggle to stay open, gazing up at me, lips parted and trembling.

“I love you, Want.” I drop over him, rippling to fuck him slow, but deep, riding him out and just plummeting for the look on his face…

That lust-drunk daze he’s wearing and looking so damn perfect. His hands slope up my waist, then my abs, then my chest, coming to rest on my neck while our eyes stick together like glue.

“I fucking… love you, my Need.”

The world slows down after that. There are no sounds but our shared breaths, the soft moans and pleasure-rippling rasps leaving our lips. The bed is creaking, but not much because I’m keeping it easy for him. We’re like waves crashing onto a shore, the hot, burning heat of his body clutching me; squeezing, holding me. Like he never wants to let me go.

We’ve fucked hard before, and it’s great. But right now, I’m making love to him, and it’s tearing me apart unlike ever before. My balls are drawn up, heavy and demanding a release. But I refuse to let myself blow until I watch his long cock shoot an orgasm all the way up his chest.

“You’re beautiful,” I gasp with my lips everywhere they can reach, hands gripping the bed for leverage while I move in between his legs.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Felix.” His fingertips rush all over me. “Fuck me… Carver.”

My achingly solid cock pulses precum into him and I shudder. “You control The Carver, baby… Even when he’s fucking you into the mattress.”

He groans out loud. “That’s right… You serve me, don’t you, sick boy?”

“Always,” I rasp breathlessly. “You own me. I’m yours forever, Dr. Love.”

He whimpers and tightens, muscles coiling up as he wraps his legs around my waist. “Make me come with your big cock.”

“I’m gonna fill you, baby.” My head spins.

“All the way?”

“All… the… fucking… way.”

I’m two seconds from bursting like a balloon as my fist wraps around his thick shaft and I stroke him to match my thrusts. He’s groaning and growling like he’s never felt anything so strong, writhing up to me until he gasps.

“Your dick is gonna make me come.” The words flood from his shivering lips. “Oh God, Felix. Baby… baby, I’m—”

And before he can even get them out, his dick begins throbbing all over himself while I milk it out of him, watching in fascination at the sight of his white cum decorating all the muscles in his torso.

“Baby baby baby, I need.” His voice cracks, moans from that deep brogue urging me on.

Without even thinking, I dip down and lick the cum off of his chest, sucking on his cock while I’m in him up to the hilt, purring as my own orgasm crests. And I pop off to tell him, “I’m coming in you, Doctor.”

“Come in me.” He gives a hoarse command.

“I’m coming in you.”

Pumping my cock as deep as physically possible, we both groan as my climax shoots off inside his body. I buck through the contractions of filling his ass up, holding him and kissing him, smearing his cum between our fevered bodies.

We kiss ourselves back down to earth with his ankles locked atop my ass, and my dick softening inside him. And even when I pull out, it feels like he wants me to stay. Forever.

“How do you feel?” I ask, catching my breath while we lie side by side, staring at one another.

“I feel like I love you,” he says with sated wonder in his tone. “I’ve never been in love before…”

“So I was right?!” I gasp. “When I called you out that time.”

He rolls his eyes, though the smile is persistent on his lips. “Yes, Felix. You were right.”

“Mmm…” I kiss him softly. “That is quite satisfying.”

“Felix…” I think he’s scolding me at first, but when I focus, I find him serious, with wide eyes. “I don’t know how this will turn out, with the two of us. But I just want you to know that you’ll always have me, baby. No matter what happens… You’ve carved your way into my soul.”

My lashes flutter. “That’s why you’re my Want, Lemuel… Because all I want is your love. And I always get what I want.” I grin triumphantly, and he chuckles.

“I know you do, killer bee.”

We get dressed, disheveled, and go around the corner to the locker room to get cleaned up. And then we come back to my new room to spend the evening rolling around in bed together, touching and teasing.

We finish our food and talk, joking and laughing. It feels like we’re in an honest to God relationship, and the part that’s so astonishing is that this is the first time I’ve ever had this.

All those men I loved before, they were misshapen pieces of my puzzle; trophies for the part of me that thirsts for blood.

But this man, my real Want, he quenches me with love, and acceptance. He stands up to The Carver, and pampers Felix Darcey, just like I’ve always needed.

He’s my chaos doctor. Spinning with me, forever.

I’ve managed to coast by on this island for a week before I’m called in to see The Ivory.

I won’t say I’m nervous. I know what I did to get myself back in here. The Warden of Alabaster Penitentiary collects psychopaths the way some people collect stamps. The most disturbing Philately ever.

Also, I have a bone to pick with him, and even though I know he’s impatiently waiting for my delivery, I also don’t exactly care about his demands after what he did…

After what he allowed to be done to Felix, knowingly, the second he sent me away.

It didn’t happen by accident. There are no coincidences where Manuel Blanco is concerned. And so part of me wants to leap over his desk the second I get in there and wring his smug neck.

But the other part—the more cunning part—knows that won’t get me anywhere. After all, I need Manuel Blanco… I need to stay on his good side for what I have planned. At least, for now.

So even though I won’t be bashing his face in today, I may need to bring up a few grievances. Mainly… The East Wing doctors, and what they did to the love of my life.

I suppose that’s what this whole thing is about… My hatred for Johansson and his team of assholes, my desire to get rid of them. And it’s all because of him. My intense, overpowering, downright stupid love for Felix Darcey.

This is no longer just a job for me. I’ve moved into this mansion for good, because I’d rather spend the rest of my days separated from the rest of the world than spend another minute away from him.

So my next move here is to make this place the optimal living experience for both of us. And the biggest part of that is making sure that nothing like what happened to him when I walked into that room will ever happen again.

I’m still dealing with rage fits over it. Thank God for the bags in the gym, otherwise I’d be out in the woods punching trees.

Or taking it out on what’s left of Templeton.

But that’s another thing.

Kent was trying to walk me up to the West Wing to meet with Manuel, but I brushed him off. I don’t need a security detail to walk around this place. After all, it’s my primary place of employment now. I’m getting used to thinking of this island as my actual home, rather than a temporary relocation. And believe it or not, I’m not hating it.

But a lot of that has to do with Felix.

My memories are on the way he looked this morning, pale skin splayed out for my hands to explore in that little twin bed we can barely fit in together in his new cell. Honestly, I like it. I love sleeping tangled up in him…

My beautifully depraved man… My first and my only.

I’m swooning as I ascend the stairs and walk to Manuel Blanco’s office. Knocking three times, I force myself to focus. I’m never exactly sure what’s going to happen when we have these meetings.

Because Manuel Blanco is every bit a monster as the rest of us.

There is no innocence on this island.

He tells me to come in and I do, closing the door behind me as I wander up to his large desk. The massive window behind him is looking out at nothing but ocean, and it’s mesmerizing. This is the only place in this prison with an actual view… And it’s a stunning one. The waters are deep teal, a bit choppy, but still, it looks refreshing as hell.

Manuel is typing on his phone, but he mutters, “Lem, please sit. I’ll be right with you.”

If I were trying to gauge his mood, I’d say so far, he seems moderately happy. But who knows with this guy.

I wait a minute, just sitting here staring out the window, listening to the clicks of his rampant texting before he sighs and places the phone down on his desk, eyes finally springing up to mine.

His lips curl. “So… You’re back.”

“I’m back.” I keep my tone casually firm.

He leans back in his chair. “Well, I can’t say that I’m surprised. This thing between you and Felix Darcey is… interesting. To say the least.”

My mouth opens, but he holds his hand up before I can speak.

“Lem, I’ll be frank. I don’t give a single fuck who you’re banging,” he says, fully serious, though his eyes are alit with amusement. “If you choose to stick your dick in a hornet’s nest, that’s your call. You’ve proven yourself invaluable and made it worth my while, which is why I’ve allowed you back. And also, I won’t lie… I rather enjoy having you here.”

He pauses for a moment, and I see the strangest flash of vulnerability. It’s barely visible, just a quick flicker in his dark eyes that’s gone in less than a blink. But I caught it…

“I’m not sure if you’ve been aware of the… I guess we’ll say drama that’s been going on here. With my officers and myself…” His jaw ticks. “But I’ll admit, I’m finding it very hard to trust people at the moment. And trust, Lemuel—” he leans in, “—is everything.”

“I would certainly agree.” I nod. And I don’t trust you, or those pricks you call doctors.

“So regardless of what’s happening with you and The Carver, I’m glad to have you back.” He smirks. “So long as your gift arrives soon.”

My lips purse. “I’ve heard it should be any day now.”

He nods. “See that it gets here without a hitch… Or I’m sure you won’t enjoy what happens.”

I let his threat roll right off, simply shifting my head to the side.

“The only other thing I’ll say to you is this,” he goes on. “Whether you’re fucking him or not, The Carver is still my possession. Don’t ever forget that, Lemuel. He belongs to me. And now that you’re here indefinitely, so do you.”

I flight the urge to gulp as my fingers curl by my side and I hold on to his dark gaze.

“You’ve chosen to make Felix Darcey your responsibility, so anything he does on this island will be on you. You’re placing your trust in The Carver, Lemuel. Just know that… Your life is in his hands, and vice versa.”

I nod in agreement, though my blood is sort of simmering.

Is there a teeny tiny voice inside me that’s just the slightest bit worried? Of course. After all, in the grand scheme, I haven’t known Felix for all that long. He’s a very sick human being, so attempting to navigate a relationship with that is like bobbing and weaving through a minefield in stilettos.

That said, my heart beats for him. It’s a physical draw that keeps us together, a force of magnetism I wouldn’t be able to untangle from if I tried. I did, at first. But it was no use.

Felix Darcey has weaved his way through the fibers of me. He’s a poison in my veins… And I have no interest in the antidote.

“Speaking of trust, and the best interest of keeping Felix safe, there is something I wanted to mention to you…” I begin, ready to come at him about the bullshit he pulled, giving Felix over to Templeton.

But I’m interrupted by a knock at the door.

Manuel holds up his index finger to me, then barks, “Yes?”

The door opens and Officer Chevelle pops his head in. When he sees me, his eyes shift to Manuel as if to ask, should I come back?

“What is it, Officer?” Manuel mutters, sounding very unenthused.

Velle stomps into the center of the room. “Sorry to interrupt,” he murmurs, glancing at me.

I can’t help but gape at him, wondering where his hostility toward me went. Something about him seems different, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. There’s a spring in his step, and a confidence about him that feels more genuine and less ostentatious.

And for the ease of Velle’s presence, there seems to be a stiff discomfort radiating from Manuel Blanco.

“What do you need, Officer Chevelle?” Manuel hisses, his jaw visibly tight.

“We need fuel,” Velle says to him, unaffected by Manuel’s sudden mood shift.

“Fuel?” His light eyebrow jumps.

“For the yacht,” Velle adds, nodding. “Can you send Kent? Or maybe Paulino…”

Manuel sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “When is this supposed to be happening again?”

“This weekend.” Velle’s lips quirk slightly.

I can’t help how my eyes are bouncing back and forth between the two of them. This interaction is interesting, to say the least.

“Fine,” Manuel growls, pursing his lips. “I’ll have Paulino get it, and have the yacht stocked for this weekend.”

“Thank you.” Velle’s voice comes out silkier than I’ve ever heard it.

And I swear to God, a solid ten seconds of pure tension passes during which the room is silent, but I can feel something happening. Manuel’s posture is rigid, and it looks like his fingers are digging into his desk while Velle is posted in a dominant stance, his gaze stuck on The Ivory.

“Is that all?” Manuel asks, gravelly.

“Yes, sir,” Velle replies, though he’s still just standing there while they glare at each other. Making the air in the room hot and stuffy, like we’re in a jungle.

At last, Velle’s eyes flit from Manuel’s to mine. As if he forgot I was here for a second. And in the split second of eye contact, I see something intriguing. Something beneficial.

He probably still hates my guts, but things have clearly changed since our last interaction.

Jonathan Chevelle could be a potential ally.

He turns and stalks out of the room, closing the door behind him. And I hear The Ivory letting out a breath he may have been holding in.

His eyes linger on the door while he says, “Anyway. Lemuel, I need to tell you… Things have been changing here recently. And there will be more changes in the near future. I have some things in play that I cannot mention just yet. But I need to do what’s best for Alabaster Penitentiary. I cannot react emotionally here. I’m sure you understand…”

He pauses to stare at me until I nod. I’m not actually sure what he’s talking about, but I have a feeling it has something to do with Velle. Especially after their awkward tension just sucked the air out of the room.

Or maybe he also knows that I’m in love with Felix… and I want to react emotionally and kick his ass for what he allowed those scumfucks to do to my sweet psycho.

“I have never been one for emotions myself.” He sighs. “When you let your guard down, you leave yourself open to attack. And there are many people who would like to see me with my shields down. Which is why I have no intention of lowering them ever again.”

Again?

“With the arrival of my newest addition, thanks to you, I plan to do some… restructuring.” He steeples his fingers on top of his desk, eyes flitting to the door again. “And that’s all I can say for now. But I trust that if I need to confide in you, I can?”

I gawk at him for a moment, stowing the truth in my muscles as I nod. Play the game. Be the monster. “Yes, of course.”

His lips curve pleasantly as he stands up, rounding the desk. I stand as well, and he reaches out to shake my hand.

“Happy to have you back, Dr. Love.” His fingers wrap firmly around mine. “And no hard feelings, right?”

I force an easy grin, faking it through my teeth. “Water under the bridge.”

His smirk grows. “Good to hear. Oh, and let me just say, I’m impressed with your work in Chicago.”

Perfect. I allow my grin to widen. “I was hoping you would be.”

“I think we have much in common, Doctor.” He places his hand on my shoulder, guiding me toward the door. “I look forward to working with you more.”

Leaving his office in a haze, my thoughts are fumbling around in my skull.

I didn’t mention anything about the doctors to him… Because now I’m thinking I might not have to. Maneuvering around this island is like a game of chess.

And my best move right now involves a knight, a queen, and a rook…

Well, damn.

“Man… I can’t believe he died,” Felix whines, kicking the soggy bag of bones on the floor. “What a pussy.”

I sigh. “What the hell are we supposed to do with him now?”

Dr. Templeton is dead. Good riddance.

I guess he was finally able to free himself from our chains—metaphorically, of course, since he’s still tied up. He’s been in this room for a few weeks now, experiencing every bit of nefarious torture Felix or I can think up. I even located an IV in order to get him enough nutrients and hydration, the bare minimum, to keep him alive.

The lump on the floor barely even resembles the man I’ve hated since the moment I met him. And I’m glad. After what he did to Felix, death is by far too sweet a release. If it were up to me, I would have kept him living for years like this.

Dickless, footless, fingerless, toothless. The list could go on, but I don’t want to gross you out.

Unfortunately, it looks like he got off easy. I’m not sure how, but I don’t really care. My main concern now is what to do with him. And much to my own surprise, Manuel Blanco hasn’t mentioned him to me at all in the weeks that I’ve been back. I think he has bigger things going on than the death of one of his rapist doctors.

Getting rid of Templeton is a win for us. But Johansson and that asshole Hassan are still slinking around here, though they go to great lengths to avoid me. Hassan in particular, after I kicked the shit out of him. And Johansson, I let off with a warning… For now.

I’ll get them off this fucking island if it’s the last thing I do.

“Maybe we should call someone,” Felix says, bending down to observe the hacked-up face of what used to be Dr. Templeton.

“Like who? The police?” I chuckle, and he rolls his eyes at me.

“Yea, the police,” he mutters sarcastically. “They’ll just hop on their cop boat and sail out here to solve the case. No, silly ass. I mean like… Joy.”

My instinct is to say fuck no, and take care of this shit on my own. But then I remember the conversation I had with Velle yesterday…

We came to an understanding. I’m on Team Chevelle now. And Manuel thinks I’m on Team Ivory. I’m like the Benedict Arnold of Alabaster Isle.

And since Joy is much less inclined to beat the shit out of Felix for something like this than Velle—she likes him, though she doesn’t care to admit it—she’s probably the safest bet. Although apparently Joy, Velle, and Rook come as a package deal.

Either way, Felix is right. We need to call someone. I don’t think I can get rid of this body by myself without anyone noticing.

So I make the call. And ten minutes later, the three of them are standing beside Felix and me, staring down at the body.

“This is… highly disgusting,” Joy says with a flutter of her dark lashes.

“Yea, but I mean… I hated that asshole.” Velle laughs. He leans behind me to high-five Felix. “Nice work, you fuckin psycho.”

Felix grins wide, clearly proud of himself. “Thanks.”

“I’m gonna be sick,” Rook grumbles, turning away and coughing.

“Aww… Cookie! What’s wrong?” Joy chuckles, walking over to rub his back. “Never seen hacked-up human remains before?”

“Let’s get this over with.” Velle sighs. “I have leftover lasagna in the fridge calling my name.”

“I hate both of you.” Rook gags. Then his eyes find Felix. “Especially you. Can’t you control yourself?? I mean, what did this guy do, anyway…”

“He raped me,” Felix says calmly.

All three sets of eyes jump to him before they share a look.

“Good call, then,” Velle says firmly.

“Yea, let’s chop him up and feed him to the sharks,” Joy says, giving Felix a comforting smile.

“That sounds like a perfect way for him to go,” Rook agrees. “But I’m gonna need a mask or something… ’Cause this smell is not working for me.”

Velle laughs, brushing his fingers through Rook’s hair before turning to me. “Let’s get to work.”

And it takes us hours.

Hours of dismembering Templeton’s body and slinging all the pieces into this giant wheelbarrow Rook found, then bringing them to the rock ledge at the south side of the island and dumping it all into the ocean.

Felix really wanted to be the one to do that part, but Velle drew the line at letting him leave the prison. I’m guessing he doesn’t know he shares a roof with The Carver at least two nights a week. But we’ll just keep that to ourselves for now.

After that, we have to clean up the blood and guts. And it’s a lot. But Felix brings his little stereo and we pop in the Best Of Depeche Mode CD. The music helps it all go a little smoother. We’re like one of those cleaning crews that takes care of crime scenes.

It’s actually kind of fun.

When we’re done, Felix goes to take a shower and retreat to his room while I help them finish up.

“I can’t believe you’re dating a serial killer.” Joy snorts, ripping off her rubber gloves and dumping them into the trash.

“Is that bad?” I ask teasingly.

She and Rook share a look and she gasps. “Are you actually cool, Dr. Love?”

I chuckle. “I don’t know about cool…”

“But you’re like a regular person,” Velle surmises. “Which is hilarious because we all thought you were a creepy robot until like… right now.”

“Hey, there are worse things to be,” I tell them, wiping my hands with sanitary wipes.

“Just know that if psycho boy fucks up in any way, it’s on you,” Velle asserts. “I’m not taking the heat for his nonsense anymore. That was, like, the worse thing ever.”

I peek at him. “Was that really what caused all of this drama? One prisoner escapes and everything falls apart? I find that hard to fathom…”

“Nothing here has ever been stable, Love.” Velle side-eyes me. “It was all hanging on by a thread until you snipped it.”

I gulp. “Sorry about that…”

“Shit happens,” Joy jumps in.

“Yea, and to be honest, I think it was for the best,” Rook says, nudging Velle on the arm. They grin at each other.

Watching the three of them together gives me some warmth in the chest. They really make a great team. And I feel a hundred percent better about staying here with them in charge. But then I remember something…

“Look, I don’t know if I can talk about it here,” I whisper to Velle. “But keep your eyes open. He said something to me about changes…”

Velle’s dark blue eyes linger on mine. He doesn’t appear worried, but I think that’s just part of who he is. I’m sure he’ll be on his guard for the foreseeable future.

Before he can say anything, all three of their walkies go off. “Incoming… New inmate. Just pulled off the ferry.”

Velle’s head springs in the direction of his partners and they all share a confused, anxious look.

“I think I know who that is,” I tell them. “Come on.”

We all leave the room, smelling of chemicals, and storm through the prison, up to the main entrance. And just as we’re stepping outside, a black SUV is pulling up.

My pulse is increasing steadily, fingers twitching at my sides. I’m not sure what to expect…

This is the main reason I was able to come back here. He was my ticket back to Felix.

The question is, how will he react to Alabaster Penitentiary?

Two officers hop out of the vehicle, opening the back door. And sure enough, out steps my patient.

Trevel Fenwick.

He’s cuffed and shackled as they hustle him along, right over to where we’re standing. His violet eyes set on me instantly. And his lips curl into a snarling expression.

“Well, well, well,” he growls as they walk him up to the doors. “Look who it is.”

“Trevel,” I murmur, remaining as professional as I can, though he’s glaring at me like he wants to lunge right here. I guess he’s not happy to see me again…

“Look at me now, Doctor.” His typically polite British demeanor is edgy and vibrating a calm rage that I can feel with several feet separating us. “Just where you wanted me. Sentenced to death in this fucking shithole…”

“Trevel, we should talk another time.” I attempt to placate him with the eyes of five guards on me. “I am glad to have you here, though. I think this could be good for you…”

“Good?!” he barks a scoff, then narrows his gaze at me, licking his lips. “No, it will be good. All of us under one roof. A happy family, just like at Riverwoods.”

“Alright, let’s go, pal.” The guard grows impatient, tugging him along.

“Dr. Love,” Trevel calls over his shoulder. “Remember… It would be unfortunate, wouldn’t it?”

I’m statue still as I watch them pull Trevel inside Alabaster Penitentiary, his words and his tone filling me with unease. He blames me… Of course he does. I deserve his rage.

My only worry is what he’ll be able to find out now that we’re all in the same isolated space. And just how angry he actually is.

“Should I be worried about this?” Velle asks with his eyes fixed in the direction our newest inmate was just ushered.

I hear a scream that sends a chill up my spine. “I’ll get back to you.”

It’s our three-month anniversary.

I decided a while ago that I wanted to do something special for Felix, so I’ve planned a picnic in the woods. I packed us up some food, brought a blanket, the whole nine.

The weather today is beautiful. It’s not insanely hot. Plus, the trees will provide us some pleasant shade.

I’m antsy when I show up to his room, and when he opens the door, my heart skids to a stop. It’s crazy to me, feeling this way about someone. Especially the last person in the world I’m supposed to need like he’s my oxygen.

Felix smiles, his usual. He’s always excited to see me, and turns me weightless. Dressed in prison jumpsuit pants and a white t-shirt, he could be modeling designer labels. That’s how good he looks.

“Always looking so fine.” I grin, easing into him, sliding my hands around his waist to pull him close.

“Hi, baby,” he breathes, draping his arms on my shoulders. His lips dance on the scars on my throat as he whispers, “Missed you.”

“I just saw you this morning,” I chuckle, squeezing onto him, hands resting above his ass while I inhale his delicious scent.

His masculinity and sweetness wrapped around the potent threat of danger. I just love all of it.

I love him.

“I know, but I’m codependent.” I feel his smile on my skin.

“I think I am, too.” I shift to kiss his pouty lips. “Hey… Happy anniversary.”

“It’s our anniversary?!” He chirps into my mouth, being his usual brand of smart ass, because he knows it is. It was his idea to celebrate random anniversaries. But of course I conceded.

I will give him anything he wants for the rest of my life.

“I have a surprise for you.” I croon, and he pulls back to gaze up at me eagerly. “What would you say to a picnic at our spot in the woods, followed by a nice stroll along the beach…?”

He lights up. “I would say bring lube.”

I laugh out loud. How does he do that?? I swear to God, I never laughed or smiled this much in my life before meeting Felix Darcey.

Taking his hand, I lead him out of the prison and out that side door. And we follow the beaten path we’ve made, walking from the prison to the mansion. It’s our standard route, and the walk has become one of my favorite things.

We get to our spot, between two of the tallest trees with the large flat rock I’m not afraid to admit I’ve fucked him on a few times. Even looking at it makes my dick hard, like a Pavlovian bell.

“Here we are, killer bee,” I sigh, laying out the blanket and placing everything down.

“Why thank you, killer lover.” He smirks at me, plopping down onto the ground.

Unpacking the food, I glance over at him, watching his interest flit through our surroundings. He loves the woods, more than I’ll ever understand. He loves the beach, too… Just being outside in general. But there’s something about being surrounded by trees and bushes, dirt and flowers, alive or dead, that gives him a sense of serenity. I admire it… I think it’s just one of the many things I find fascinating about this man. The things that make me love him, regardless of whatever decay he houses inside.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you…” I mumble, handing him a can of Dr. Pepper.

He cracks it open immediately and takes a satisfied sip. “You’re not really a doctor.” He smirks at my look of admonishment for his wise ass remarks, because he can see the smile I’m desperately trying to smother.

“You’re just begging for me to smack your ass tonight, aren’t you?” My eyebrow cocks.

He bites his lip and whines. “Stop please, you’re making me hard.” He adjusts himself and I have to remind myself to stow my eagerness just long enough to tell him what I have to tell him.

Because in the interest of being forthcoming, giving him more of me, I say, “I had someone, my P.I. friend, look up Cameron Kline. Cam…”

His amusement falls away fast, his throat dipping. “My Cam?”

I can’t help how my teeth grind at that. “Is he yours, Felix?”

“No,” he answers instantly, shaking his head. Then he blinks hard. “No no, that’s not what I meant. I just meant… Why?”

“Because I wanted to know where he is, and what he’s doing,” I answer, sounding blatantly jealous to my own ear. And because I wanted to keep tabs on your first love…

Felix’s lashes flutter in that way that makes my fingers twitch with the need to grab him. “Okay… why, though?”

My head slants. “You don’t care about where he is… or what he’s doing?”

His lips part, though it takes him a moment to speak. “I mean, maybe I’m a little curious… Now that you’ve brought it up. But to be honest, like I told you before, I barely ever think about him anymore. I mean, do you think about Gabrielle?”

“That’s totally different,” I grunt pointedly. “I wasn’t in love with her.”

“And I’m not sure I was really in love with Cam,” he combats. “I don’t think I was in love with any of them… Not the way I am with you.”

Staring at him for a moment, I can feel my heart banging against me inside, begging to get closer to him. I can’t help myself.

I lunge, crawling on top of him and pinning him to the forest floor to kiss him feverishly. Our lips move together, in a seamless and seductive ebb and flow, tongues spurring on moans and gasps of need.

“I love you, Dr. Love,” he whines, hips seeking mine. I press them down into his forcefully and he grunts.

“I love you more, Carver.”

When we finally come up for air, I hold his face and touch every surface, every line that makes him up. Still fascinated. Always fascinated by him.

“So… is Cameron okay?” His quietly hesitant voice asks while I’m studying the curves of his lips and the slope of his nose.

“Hm?” I trace his chin with my fingertips.

Who has a sexy chin?? My psycho boyfriend, that’s who.

“Just so I know… for closure,” he goes on, and I finally zone back in on what he’s saying. “Is he alright?”

The pause I take before answering, while considering how to answer, feels very long, when in reality, it’s not. The decision I make is an easy one.

He’s mine. And I need to take care of him.

“Yes, he’s alright,” I lie to him with ease, brushing back the strands of silky chestnut hair that want to fall in his eyes.

And immediately I know I made the right call. He looks happy, placated by my words. This is the last piece of the puzzle, and now he can pack up Cameron Kline, and stuff him away in the closet of his memories. No need to dwell on it anymore.

What’s done is done, after all.

Maybe lying to the man I love makes me a dick, but we’ve already established two things: one, I’m not a good person. And two, I will do whatever it takes to protect my monster.

Felix pulls my mouth back to his, and we ease into more sweet kisses, more touching and breathing and exploring this new love. This palpable electricity, somehow soothing in its smolder. The sensation of being with him is unlike anything I could have expected.

I went into this job ready to cut him open and carve out everything inside that makes him unique, place it under a microscope and analyze. I really never thought he would end up on the inside…

Because my mission in meeting Felix Darcey was to open him up, but he did it to me in return, unfurling me in ways I never thought possible. And now, I don’t think I could breathe another breath without him.

He might be the patient, but I’m the one who’s brainwashed.

And I never want to wake from this debauchery.

I’ve been daydreaming when Dr. Love snaps his fingers in front of my face.

“Felix… focus,” he scolds in his robot tone. “We’re in the middle of a session.”

I shift on the red velvet couch in his office, glancing around the room. I feel like I was just in a daze for months. My most intense fantasy yet…

The entire story of our relationship.

Blinking at my doctor, I wonder if he has any idea how much I love him. How much we’ve done together in my mind.

But none of it really happened…

It was all a dream.

I purse my lips, inching my foot forward to play footsie with Lem.

Just KIDDING!

Of course it happened. What did you think, I made up all that crazy shit in my head??

Lem tries to contain himself, preserving his growly facade, but I can see him cracking for me. And he nudges his shoe into mine.

“I love you,” I whisper, then my bite my lip. “I want you to bend me over your desk.”

He shifts and clears his throat. “Felix… behave. We’re supposed to be having a session. Warden’s orders.”

“Mmm… well, he’s already seen and heard us fucking before.” I slump off of the couch onto my knees, pushing his legs apart. “I think he likes it. Probably more than me talking about my kills for the millionth time.”

Reaching for the buckle on his belt, I undo it slowly while gazing up at him. His gorgeous face, so serious all the time, except with me. I’m the only one who gets his little grins and chuckles. Sometimes I get wide beaming smiles and big booms of laughter from him. Those are my favorite.

I’m the only one who gets his kisses and cuddles, his affection, his bated breaths, his moans and groans and grunts. His unreasonably long dick and on rare occasion, his ass. His soft skin and strong hands. His blood and his bloodlust.

His want, his need, and his love.

I get it all, and it makes me feel like the luckiest guy in the world, because I’m the only one who gets to call him mine. And so for that, because I appreciate the hell out of him for living on this secluded island just for me, I suck his dick slow and deep, playing with his balls the way he likes.

This time, he comes in two minutes. And it’s only my name on his lips the whole time.

“So much for that session, huh?” I tease, sitting on his lap on his big leather chair while his heart rate regulates from the intense orgasm.

“We’ll have to try again tomorrow,” he hums, a content smile on his lips while he kisses my neck.

And try again, we will. That’s the nature of our relationship, after all. Just trying everything we can here, seeing what works. He’s still my doctor, and I’m still his patient. But we’re also lovers, and friends, partners in crime. We’re everything to each other, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted.

I know it’s crazy to think of dating in prison. And I’m not sure how long this could last like this, but I don’t care. Because right now, I’m in love with Love—hehe—and he’s in love with me, and it’s just… good.

The only good thing I’ve ever done.

A few hours later, Joy shows up at Lem’s office while we’re reading the same book together on the couch.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she says with one of her cunning little smiles. “But I need to borrow the killer bee for a sec.”

I glance at Lem, who looks suspicious. “What are we doing?”

“There’s something I think you might want to be involved in…” she says. “A Thursday event.”

“Is that some kind of code for something?” Lem asks.

“Yes.” Joy grins.

I turn to him, tugging one of his dreadlocks. “I’ll be back in a few.”

He looks like he doesn’t want to let me go and Joy groans. “Jesus, your relationship is so unhealthy, I’m about to hire it a nutritionist. Let’s go, slice-n-dice! I don’t have all day, and this offer expires in ten seconds.”

Grinning, I press a quick kiss on Lem’s worried lips. Then I jump up, following Joy.

“Be careful!” he calls after me as we leave the office.

“I didn’t think it was possible, but he might be more obsessed with you than you are with him.” Joy scoffs.

“I’m sure it’s very close.” I chuckle while we walk.

“Oh, by the way, I’m gonna have to cuff you when we get closer to gen-pop,” she tells me. “For them more than you, you know?”

I nod. “Yea, I get it.”

We wander through all the long halls, leaving the East Wing and entering solitary. It’s strange; things are changing, yet they always kind of stay the same. It’s hard to describe, but no matter how much we adjust to life in this place, it’s still a disgusting prison in the middle of the ocean. That part will never change, no matter how nice my room is now, or the fact that I haven’t been in a straitjacket in months.

I haven’t been experimented on since the incident with Templeton, which I would hardly call an experiment. It was just an assault, but whatever. He’s dead now, and he definitely got what was coming to him.

I don’t see Johansson often, or that other asshole, Hassan. But I know they’re here. We pass them in the halls sometimes and I have to grip Lem’s arm to keep him from lunging. He wants them gone, and I know he’s trying to devise a plan on how to do it, but I’m not sure what it will be or how it will work. No matter how much the Warden likes Lem, he is still loyal to those assholes.

On the other hand, my boyfriend is pretty damn persuasive.

Really, we’re just living the best we can when one of us is a serial killer with no hope of ever leaving this island. I used to feel a little guilty, like I was stopping Lem from going out and living outside of this bubble. But he actually loves it here.

And honestly, I don’t blame him. The Ivory Mansion is an incredible place. I cherish the couple of days a week I get to spend there.

No matter what, I think everything makes sense with Lemuel in my life. I’m a monster, but I found my Dr. Frankenstein, who treasures me for me.

And cards on the table, he’s a little twisted himself, which helps.

Joy stops me before we get to the first row in general population, fastening cuffs on my wrists. She spares the shackles, which I have to appreciate, but keeps her hand on her Glock while walking me to the cafeteria.

I’m still not sure what we’re doing, but I feel a little less stressed coming up to gen-pop than I used to. I’ve been up here more and more lately, mostly just for meals when Lem can’t bring me food in my room. They still make me sit by myself and feed me while I remain cuffed, but it’s better than no food at all, and being completely isolated from everyone else.

The other day, Luthor and Ren waved at me. So that was cool.

Speaking of, as we walk through the double-doors of the cafeteria, I spot them immediately. They’re not sitting in their usual spot, though. This time they’re at a table on the far side of the caf, away from everyone else. Joy nods in their direction, so I walk over there. But as we’re reaching the table, she leaves me, darting over to a guard who’s waving her down.

Luthor and Ren smile when they see me. But Kang still wears that displeased grimace when I’m around. I can’t blame him. I killed his friend, so… Yea. It’s awkward.

“Hey, it’s Darcey!” Luthor says kindly, scooting over on the bench and patting it. “Have a seat, man. Take a load off.”

Ren chuckles. “You said load.”

“Dear God.” He rolls his eyes. “You’re painfully immature. And I’m like three years younger than you.”

Ren makes a surly face and Luthor grins at him, poking an index finger into one of Ren’s dimples. I can’t help but tilt my head at them. They seem like more of a couple than before…

I wonder how that’s come about.

Either way, they’re fucking adorable together. And I suddenly wish like hell that Lem was here so I could show off my own killer relationship. Great word choice, I know.

I sit down next to Luthor, eyeing Ren’s hand while it slides possessively onto Luthor’s thigh.

“Nice to see you again, Felix,” Ren says to me pleasantly.

“You too…” I wiggle in place under the intensity of his sky-blue eyes. “Um… I don’t really know why I’m here.”

“To eat. Obviously,” Kang grumbles.

“Byron, give it a rest.” Ren sighs. “Felix is a friend of a friend. So now he’s our friend, too. And sometimes our friends kill each other. It’s just the way of the world.”

Luthor looks horrified, and Kang finally cracks a smile.

“Wait, a friend of a friend?” I ask, bemused.

Joy stomps back over. “Sorry. Prison drama, as usual.” She drops a tray of chicken nuggets in front of me. “He should be calling any minute. Here.” She picks one up and holds it up to my mouth, helping me eat.

“Ooh, baby.” Ren wiggles his eyebrows at her. “You’re turning me on.”

“I will tase you.” She huffs, though she’s grinning. Ren laughs.

I can’t help but smile myself while chewing. I like the interactions between all of them. And I’m used to observing, so I could just sit back and watch if need be. After all, the wallflower is my default position. Though they seem to want me to be involved, which kicks up my social anxiety a few notches.

I don’t know how to act around people. And I’m certainly not used to having friends.

Maybe if I could watch them from around the corner or something…

Joy’s phone on her holster starts ringing, and she stuffs a chicken nugget in my mouth, nearly choking me. Luthor cackles.

“Joy Jameson of Jameson Industries. Go for Joyful.” She smirks.

Whoever is on the other end must be speaking because she’s obviously listening. Then she bursts out laughing. Glancing at Luthor and Ren, they’re practically bouncing. It looks like they’re on pins and needles for something and I’m finding this all very strange.

She said he should be calling… who’s he?

“Glad to hear your voice, #101.” Joy sighs. “Per your request, I have another looney toon here for you.” She pauses, then chuckles. “Yea, you definitely owe me. Okay, hang on. Here he is.”

She holds the phone up to my ear, and I have no idea what’s going on, but I say, “Hello…?”

“Felix Darcey!” a smooth yet raspy voice chirps excitedly in my ear. The call quality isn’t fantastic, but still the voice is definitely familiar… “How the heck are you, buddy?”

My lashes flutter and I peer up at Joy. “Who… Dash??”

He laughs, and then it all comes bounding back to me.

His voice through the shared concrete wall of our cells in solitary. Hours of conversation meant to distract us from the grumbling of our stomachs…

Him singing Bohemian Rhapsody to me in Russian.

“Yea, baby! I’m so happy to be talking to you again!”

My face lights up. “Oh my God! Where are you??”

Joy’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head. I peek at the other guys and they’re all shaking their heads.

“Okay, forget that question.” I gasp, and he laughs again. “But how are you?? I can’t even believe I’m talking to you…”

“I know, man.” He sighs. “I’ve been talking to Joy and the guys for a few weeks now, and last week Luthor said that he saw you in the cafeteria and I was like, ‘Oh my God! I need to get Joy to put him on the phone, too!’ Seriously, Felix… I just want to say thank you. I wouldn’t be where I am if it weren’t for you.”

My chest warms from his words. “Don’t even worry about it. I’m happy to help.”

“Well, you did. You helped me get to Kemper,” he says wistfully. “So as far as I’m concerned, you’re a superstar and I’m gonna have to name something after you.”

I giggle. It’s a little embarrassing, but I don’t even care. I forgot how much his voice makes me swoon. Plus, he’s just the sweetest.

But then I pause. “Wait… did you say Kemper?? As in the guard who used to work here?”

“Yea! He’s my man,” Dash says pridefully. It’s fucking adorable.

Wait, so Dash is gay?! Damn… If I knew, I would’ve tried to make a move through that wall.

I grin at my thoughts. Good thing I didn’t. We’re better as friends, with our respective hot-ass dudes.

I have a million questions about how he was able to escape and then locate a guard who used to work here, but I know better than to ask. I’m sure it’s an epic story, but not something we can get into now.

“Tell Kemper I said hi,” I murmur timidly, and bite my lip. “He was always so nice to me. And like… drop-dead beautiful, delicious-smelling, you know. The whole shebang.”

Dash laughs. “He is, though, isn’t he?? We’re getting married.”

“Wow, congrats.”

“I mean, who knows when. But yea… I’m so happy, it’s disgusting.” I can hear the smile in his voice, and it makes me beam with joy for my friend. “How about you? Are you doing alright with the lockdown?”

“Yea… actually, I’m doing great.” I fidget in my seat. “Remember that doctor they were sending to study me?”

“Of course,” he says. “I never met him, but I remember you telling me about it.”

“Well… we’re dating.” I bite the psychotic grin off my lips. “Actually, we’re in love. Like, I really love him.”

“Holy what?!” Dash gasps. “That’s crazy! What’s his name?”

“Dr. Lemuel Love.” My stomach fills with butterflies from even sayings name. “PhD.”

Dash laughs, then cheers. “Get it, girl.” I can’t help but cackle out loud while he does those rumbly chuckles in my ear. “I’m so freaking happy for you! So it makes total sense that you stayed, then.”

“It really does.” I nod. “I mean, I thought about what it would’ve been like to go with you… But I think everything worked out exactly how it was supposed to.”

“It really did,” Dash sighs.

Glancing up at Joy, I find her grinning, eyes on Rook and Velle who are pestering each other across the room. And when they fall back to mine, she winks at me. Then I peek at Luthor and Ren, who are giving each other some googly eyes. Luthor leans in and whispers something to Ren, who’s long dark lashes fan over his pale cheeks as he bites his lip.

“Seems like love is in the air in Alabaster Pen,” I murmur.

“Always.” Dash agrees. “Well, it was awesome talking to you, Felix. If you want, we can talk next week. I try to call every Thursday.”

“I would love that!” I gasp, then clear my throat. “You know, since there’s nothing else going on here.” What is it about this guy that makes me feel like such a spaz??

Dash just chuckles like the sweet darling morsel he is. “Right. Okay, homie. Talk soon. Can you put Luth on, please?”

“Yup. Talk later, babe,” I tell him. Then I turn to Luthor. “You’re up.”

He pries himself off of Ren, taking the phone from Joy. “It’s my best friend! Oh, best friend, I’ve missed you so very much.”

“Um… I’m your best friend,” Ren growls at Luthor while he laughs.

“No, you’re my…” Luthor’s voice cuts out quick. His cheeks turn pink, and he visibly gulps.

Ren raises his brows expectantly. “I’m your what, Lex??”

“Shut up,” he mumbles. Then he purses his lips and tells Dash, “You shut up, too.”

I snort to myself, enjoying the endorphins that come along with having friends. It really is a foreign concept to me. And being surrounded by a bunch of guys loving other guys is really just so fun. It reminds me of when I used to go out to the clubs in Manhattan. But even then, I didn’t participate in the good times. I was always just watching… Stalking. Like a predator.

Here, I actually like these guys. And they seem to like me. At least everyone but Kang.

Peering at him, I find him fiddling with his fingernails, which are painted chipped black. Suddenly I feel awful. Everyone is talking about their relationships, flirting and touching, and being in love. It must suck for a single person. And I’m not sure if Kang is single… But he looks a little lonely right now.

Movement at the double doors catches my eye, and I turn to see Peters lugging along a tall man with black hair. An inmate I’ve never seen before.

I nudge Joy. “Who’s that?”

“New guy,” she says. “Trevel Fenwick. #102.”

“Trevel… as in… Lem’s former patient??” My wide eyes are gawking. He’s… strikingly beautiful. In a brutal sort of way, all lines and contours, like a piece of euro man-candy.

“Yea, that’s him.” Joy sighs. “I’d be careful, if I were you. I think he has it out for your man.”

My lashes flutter. Lem told me about the issue with Trevel. How he had to use Trevel to get back here. And now Trevel blames Lem.

And probably me, too.

I try not to be obvious watching him. But then I spot Kang in my peripheral, and he’s staring at Trevel, too. I mean, gawking. I’m about to offer him a napkin to wipe away that drool.

Trevel grabs a tray and takes a seat at one of the empty tables, brushing his obsidian locks out of his eyes. His face lifts and we make eye contact.

His head tilts. So does mine.

His gaze narrows. I do the same.

Hi, fellow monster.

There’s some sort of knowing look on his face. But then his eyes fling to Kang, who looks away fast, pretending he wasn’t just staring. Aw. That’s so cute.

And when Trevel looks back at me, the corner of his mouth quirks into a smile that’s charming and scary at the same time.

And he waves at me.

We’re frolicking through the woods.

Breathless, hearts flying, hands linked. This is my favorite time with my man.

These walks between the trees. For a brief moment, I can forget the reality of the situation and feel free. Follow the guide of my pulse and the strength of the man tugging me along. The man who owns me.

I belong to you, Lemuel Love.

We reach the garden just as it begins to rain, walking in between the marble wall, the crumbling stone crawling with vines while large droplets of water fall around us. Lem pushes me into a flurry of Dahlias, trapping me with his hips.

I gaze up at him, and him down at me, the smell of him, the rain and the flowers getting me high.

“I want to brush your sweet skin with these petals,” he hums, lifting my shirt with his fingers. He plucks a flower off the stem, then runs it along the line of my pants, beneath my navel.

“Pick some and we can put them in the bath later,” I whisper, shivering from the feeling of soft petals on my sensitive flesh.

Plucking one myself, I graze it along his shoulder. The yellow looks fantastic against his dark complexion.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, pushing his mouth up to mine to kiss me insistently. Hungrily soft. It’s his standard, and I couldn’t possibly love it more.

“You’re so gorgeous it’s insane,” I hum, and he rumbles a laugh into me. “Seriously… I bet that patient of yours had a huge crush on you.”

He pulls back to scold me with his eyes. He thinks it’s intimidating, but really, it just makes my dick hard. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m serious, baby.” I arch up to him. “Are you sure you never hooked up with him? Even a little…”

His lips form an elated grin. “Your jealousy turns my dick to stone, monster boy.”

I try to pout through my smirk, but it isn’t working. “Lemuel… I only want you to be mine forever.” My smile sort of fades as I huff. “I’m praying you won’t wake up in six months, or six years, wanting vagina again.” He chuckles, and I trace his lips with the flower. “I’m being serious. Am I just a phase?”

He takes my face in his hands. “You are not a phase, Felix Darcey. You’re an act of God. You’re the only person I want to be with… Forever.”

A soft moan leaves me. “Don’t toy with me.”

“I’m not.” He holds me to his strapping body. “I may have been with a lot of women before I met you, but you hypnotized me, Felix. Maybe I didn’t expect any of this. Of course I didn’t, but that doesn’t change how sickeningly, manically, stupidly in love I am with you.”

My blood is on fire as I attach myself to him, wanting to just carve out a spot inside him and live there. I want to be a part of him. I’ve never wanted to physically sew myself to someone else like this before.

Dash’s words from earlier come into my mind…

With storm clouds above our heads, raindrops and flower petals on our skin, I whisper, “Marry me.”

He stills briefly. Then I feel him quavering as his lips dance all over my face. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Carver.”

I whimper. “I’m hypnotized too, baby. I’m in a dream with you, and I never want to wake up.”

“You’re brainwashed.” He grins over my lips.

I nod. “I knew you’d do it to me, before I even met you.”

He lets out a content sigh. “Are you telling me what you really want, Felix? Or what you think I want to hear…”

I stick the yellow flower behind his ear. “Lem, I would rather be a monster in chains with you than free and living in a world where I don’t get to touch you whenever I want. I’m here, just like you are. We’re here together, and if I’m brainwashed, then so be it. I’m happy to let you possess my mind, and my heart, and my body… Only if you’re okay owning my evil.”

His amber eyes gleam like embers as he falls onto one knee before me. “Felix Darcey… The Carver.” He grins and I giggle. “Will you live in this daze with me forever… and marry me, baby?”

The breeze turns to violent winds as my pulse skips for this man. I bite my lip and nod. “Yes,” dropping to my knees to kiss him wickedly.

And we’re so lost in one another, we don’t notice the lightning strike until thunder rumbles beneath us.

The End…

Exclusive sneak peek of

FRAGMENTS: ALABASTER PENITENTIARY, VOLUME 4

“I need a hit.”

He grunts, acknowledging that he heard me. But he makes no immediate moves to give me what I want. It irks me.

But then he pushes up into me and my eyes roll back. Sure, yea. That’s much better than the line of coke.

Positioning myself, I remember the angle, making sure to slope my neck and bite my lip, because they like that. Of course what’s happening feels good, it always does, but I also need to focus on making this look good for them.

It’s what they’re paying for.

A strong hand runs up to my throat where it stops, tightens and squeezes. My face burns, and I clench my teeth. If he’s gonna get rough, I need more drugs.

“I need a—“ My choked voice fades into a groan when his dick brushes my prostate again. “Hit.”

He breathes warmth on the back of my neck, and chills sheet my flesh, nipples bunched up and sensitive. Which reminds me…

My eyes open and I lock down the man across the room, who’s sipping scotch and staring at me, a giant, visible erection showing itself through his tailored dress pants.

“So you’re like, the silent partner?” I murmur in his direction, my lips quirking at the oh-so-serious look on his face.

He looks like he wants to ignore me, or even call me a disgusting faggot slut—the usual MO of guys like him—but he can’t even try to act like he isn’t interested in what’s happening on this side of the room. Not only can I see his whole cock right now beneath the measly fabric he’s wearing, but the heat in his gaze is scorching me alive.

My mind sweeps up instantly, in thoughts of what he probably wants to do…

Drop that glass on the fucking floor and come over here. Whip your huge dick out and shove my mouth down onto it. Fuck my face until I’m crying while your friend tears my ass up.

Ravage me, stranger.

I guess I’m not the only one having these thoughts, because John Doe pauses his meticulous thrusts and pulls out, a shivering groan leaving his lips, audible to my eager ears even over the pumping bass of the music coming from downstairs.

He taps on my thigh. “Up, baby. Let my boy sample some of this sweet cunt.”

His filthy words in that hushed growly voice send a zip up my spine. But I blink myself out of it, standing up slowly. “Set me up. I won’t ask again.”

I catch a glimmer of impressed amusement on the friend’s face while John Doe chuckles. “I told you. This one’s a live wire.”

He reaches over, grabbing a sterling silver tray, cutting up some white lines with a black American Express while I watch anxiously. Using a rolled up hundred, he snorts a line, whipping his head back and wiping his nose. Then he hands it to me.

When I bend to do my line, he smacks my ass. Hard. The sting feels good, and my balls throb. But still, I can’t fight the irritation I’m feeling. These guys are always the same.

I think maybe that’s why I’m so often annoyed by my clients. It’s the unoriginality of it all. I can predict their moves, anticipate what they’re going to do or say next. Just once, I wish someone would do something different.

I wish anything would change. Because I feel like I’m drifting…

I’m always drifting.

With the drugs in my system, I’m shivering with need. Everything is fast and high-definition. The thumping music of the club just downstairs rattles my veins, darkness and shadows surrounding us. I’m bathed in red light as I stride, naked, to the center of the room, approaching the quiet stranger. He’s fiddling with his video camera, set up off to the side.

Things like this are allowed in here… For a price. Only high-rollers are allowed in these rooms. And I don’t come up here for less than five-grand an hour.

Not that I need the money. It’s the principle.

I like to get fucked, and I like doing it with strange men. Bonus points if they’re straight, extremely wealthy and powerful government officials, like ol’ John Doe over there.

Sparse light catches the shimmer of glitter on my skin, highlighting the curves of my muscles. The stranger likes it. I can tell, because he isn’t messing with the camera anymore. Now he’s practically drooling while his hungry gaze slides all over me. Sidling up to him, I reach out to hesitantly play with the open collar of his white shirt.

“Whatever you want… It’s yours,” I whisper over his lips.

He’s keyed up tight, holding firm. He doesn’t do this as often as John Doe, that much is clear.

Something vulnerable flashes in his dark eyes as he head cocks right. He assesses my face closely, like he’s looking for something. I can’t help but wonder what he’s seeing when he’s looking at me.

The image… The portrayal. That’s all they ever see.

The shell of Warren Xavier.

No one knows about what’s hidden underneath.

Uncharacteristically, Stranger’s hand travels up, his fingers dancing tenderly on my jaw. He remains silent while his thumb grazes my bottom lip. His softness, the gentle way he’s touching me is a resuscitation to my dead heart. It tickles in the pit of my stomach… Like an itchy frisson I can’t shake.

It feels so strange… Affection. But I don’t… I don’t think I hate it.

Unfortunately, before I can even process what I’m feeling, Stranger shoves his thumb into my mouth.

Things become fast and foggy after that.

He pushes me onto my knees, spearing my throat with his long dick while his friend snorts coke off my ass and jerks off in the background. I’m in a haze when he drags me back to the couch, and they sit, side-by-side, passing me back and forth. Using me like nothing but a sex toy.

But this is what I’m used to. This makes sense.

Being fucked hard, aggressively, by men who see me as an object. Their angry fists in my hair, pushing my skull in the dark.

The whirlwind of drugs and cum. Growling and bruises and control… The give and take.

They give. I take.

By the end of it, I’m numb. I know I’ve gotten off. I usually do, but I can’t even remember the orgasms after a few seconds, and I’m not sure what that means.

They leave me with my wrists bound by their expensive ties, covered in cum, and a little blood, surrounded by a pile of sweaty cash.

Typical Friday night.

Once I’m cleaned up and dressed, the sun is rising slowly over this island we call New York. I leave the club, fighting the urge to limp and trying like hell to leave the cut on my lip alone. The black

Town Car is parked along the curb, as usual. But I don’t take it.

I never do.

In fact, I flip it off, walking the two blocks to the nearest subway station. The ride is sobering, as usual. I put in my headphones and listen to my favorite playlist, zoning out amongst Manhattan’s walk-of-shamers and people who work at this ungodly hour, even on weekends. The city is broken, and lonely, just like the rest of us.

When I arrive at home, I can’t help but gaze upward, eyeing the giant Upper East Side penthouse with a sigh.

I would love to watch it all burn…

Inside, the house is still quiet, shy of the staff who are already up, cooking and cleaning as quietly as possible. Not that it would matter… My parents are in their wing, which feels like miles away from this side of the house.

I ignore the looks they’re giving me while I climb the stairs and go directly to my bedroom. This is only a transitional period, I tell myself while I strip down and go for the shower. My reflection in the mirror catches my eye, all the bruises covering my flesh sticking out amongst my scattered ink.

I like them. Bruises remind me that I’m alive and susceptible to hurt. Like when I was twelve and I used to cut myself.

Just to feel.

While I shower, my mind flicks through images. Memories of tonight, with John Doe. I’m contractually obligated to pretend I don’t know who he is… Although I definitely do. My parents donated to his congressional campaign. And the new stranger… He also looked familiar.

They always do. If I gave up the names of all the high-powered men I’ve bent over for, I could take down the city of New York.

I enjoy it, I do. I can’t act like I don’t, but that teeny, weakened little voice inside tries shouting up to my brain. I don’t want to be here anymore.

Get me out.

Get… me… out.

After my shower, I get into bed. And I pass out for hours. Many hours.

When my eyes open again, it’s dinnertime. And no surprise, I can hear my mother shrieking up the hall. I open my bedroom door, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and preparing myself for another installment of Scream at Ren until he realizes the error of his ways.

“Rosa, I’ve told you one hundred times… If Mr. Xavier is due business visitors, we cannot have you all mulling about. It’s distracting and unprofessional.” My mother pauses her berating of the housekeeper for long enough to glance up at me. “Well, look who’s decided to grace the world with his presence.” Her eyes fall over my shirtless torso for a moment before she rolls her eyes and scoffs, “You’re unbelievable.” Then fixates back on poor Rosa. “Get everyone out of sight, right now!”

“Yes, Mrs. Xavier,” Rosa trembles, scurrying off to go shit herself. And I get it. My mother is definitely scary… To people who give a flying fuck about her bullshit, which I certainly do not.

“What the fuck is wrong?” I yawn and stretch my arms over my head. “I need my beauty sleep and you’re out here squawking like a demented bird.”

“Warren, enough,” Beth—my mother—shrills. “Your father is expecting company and you’re standing around looking like the epitome of a disappointment. Put some clothes on.”

I can’t help the huh look I’m giving her. “Dad’s company isn’t my problem. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to bed. I have work in a few hours.”

“Warren! I swear to God, we’re not doing this again!” She rushes me, grasping me by the arm so hard her acrylics are breaking the skin. “It’s bad enough the entire community knows you were kicked out of school for inappropriate conduct. And now you’re flouncing around the city like a common whore! It’s disgusting. Get your shit together, or we’re sending you to back to rehab!”

“Blah blah BLAH!” I shout in her face and she flinches, gazing up at me like I’m the spawn of Satan. If the shoe fits, Mom. “You sound so boring and stupid. Listen, I don’t give a fuck about your yammering.” I rip my arm out of her grip. “If you wanted a normal son, you shouldn’t have fucked me up so bad.”

My mother’s blue eyes are wide, burning an unkempt rage in my direction as she goes quiet. It’s that silent fury that lets me know she means business. Bug sadly for her, I still don’t care. I physically don’t possess the piece of my chemical makeup that allows me to give a fuck what people think—especially my parents.

And that’s actually not the only part I’m missing.

“You’re living in this house,” she seethes. “We’re paying for your lifestyle—“

“I don’t need you to do that,” I growl. “I’m making my own money.”

“We are not speaking about that, Warren,” she hisses, her Botox not allowing for the facial reactions trying to tug at her skin. “What you do with your time is disgusting.”

“Why… because I’m a man doing it with men?” My arms fold over my chest. “Meanwhile, you slutting your way across the Columbia campus wasn’t a big deal…”

“Kenneth!” My mother shouts at the top of her lungs, blowing my goddamn eardrums out. She storms away from me in a huff, darting down the stairs, likely toward my father’s office. “You need to get a handle on your son! I swear to God, I’m going to blow my brains out.”

“Don’t do me any favors, mother dearest,” I grumble under my breath, spinning back into my bedroom.

I would love to go back to sleep, but after that, I can’t. So instead I get changed and go for a run. And when I come back, stomping into the foyer with my music turned up to full volume and the end of my water bottle in my mouth, I come face-to-fucking-face with the guy who fucked me and slapped me in the face last night…

John Doe’s friend.

In my house.

What kind of cosmic bullshit…?

Upon noticing one another, we both go completely still and stare for a solid ten seconds. His eyes fall to what I’m wearing… My skin-tight running pants and a sleeveless mesh workout top that shows off all my side tats.

I witness him gulp, and my gaze narrows.

My father’s business acquaintance, I presume.

His eyes shift around before he whispers, “What are you doing here??”

“Uh, I live here, Sherlock.” I sip from my water bottle again. “What are you doing? Let me guess… investing. Or were you just so taken with my skills, you couldn’t help but track me down? Wouldn’t be the first time…”

His face goes ashen, while simultaneously morphing into appall, disgust, shame and rage. So many things I’m used to seeing on men’s faces. It’s boring.

“You signed an NDA,” he growls. “Don’t forget that, Ren.”

I can’t help but grin at him. “But if you were to sue me… who do you think would be footing the bill?” I glance about the giant, lavish and opulent penthouse we’re currently standing in.

His jaw ticks, eyes igniting a fuse of wrath as he steps closer to me. “You are such a worthless little slut.”

“Ooh, Daddy,” I hum. “Talk dirty to me.”

I swear to God, it looks like he’s about to lay hands on me. And I’m praying for it.

I need it, like a winding up that’s been happening inside me for days, weeks, months, years… All the time blending together like a suffocating gray nothingness. The need to burst forth, break free from the chains of this life, stretching me thinner and thinner…

I’m about to snap.

Hit me, motherfucker. I dare you.

“What’s going on over here?” My father’s voice breaks the spell, and Stranger falls back, instantly reacquainting himself with reality and his surroundings.

“I’m so sorry, Kenneth… Unfortunately, I won’t be signing the deal.” His surly gaze narrows at me. “I’ve had a change of heart.”

He turns and stalks toward the front door. The palpable shift in the room is strong, like a sudden leak of noxious gas in the air. My father shoots me a withering glare, chasing his potential business partner to the door, pleading with him to reconsider.

My mother steps out from the dining room, simply shaking her head. “What have you done now?”

I lift my shoulder in a bored shrug. Who cares?

When my father comes back, he grabs me by the arm and hauls me to his face. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!”

My muscles stiffen in anger as I snarl in his face. “Do I look like I give a fuck about your business ventures??”

He shoves me away from him. “You’re disgusting.”

“Listen, Father, if you’re no longer accepting funds from men who have rode me raw, I’m sorry to say, but your accounts are about to be dryer than your wife’s pussy.”

He slaps me. Hard, right across the face. Like a bitch.

A laugh bursts from my throat, loud. A deranged cackle.

I spit blood onto the floor. “Fuck you.”

“You think you can just get away with this?” My father glowers at me, and while I’ve always loved the way I look, in this moment, I despise it. The similarities between us. “Ruining our lives, our reputation with your sickening lifestyle?? You can’t. I will burn you to the ground before I let you destroy everything I’ve built.”

Burn.

A flicker of elation sparks inside me.

Like the strike of a match…

“Don’t worry, Dad,” I whisper with a curl to my lips. “I’m way ahead of you.”

The shouts blur in my ears as I walk away from him. The threats I’ve heard since I was a child. The hatred I’ve built for these people, this home, it stacks up inside me like bricks. The final nail in the coffin.

The last straw.

Burn it down.

And later that night, when the castle is quiet, I’m surrounded by the scent of kerosene.

And I light a match.

Follow me for updates on Fragments, coming in 2023!

“The only motive that there ever was was to completely control a person; a person I found physically attractive. And keep them with me as long as possible.”

—Jeffrey Dahmer

SLICE ’N DICE, BABY!!

So! That wasn’t so bad, was it?? Let’s have our standard post-Nyla-K-book check-in. Did you throw up at all? How many orgasms did you have? Shed a tear or two? All of which would be perfectly acceptable. Even encouraged!

Now, I have a lot I’d like to tell you about this book, because to be honest, it’s lousy with Easter eggs. As I mentioned in the foreword, I’m a massive true crime fan, and I’ve been studying serial killers since I was probably way too young to be doing so.

I legit wanted to be an FBI agent when I was like eleven, so Lem’s whole fascination with Mindhunter… Yea, that’s me.

Let’s go from top to bottom (giggity).

First off, if you’re not a true crime fan, hopefully this book was still enjoyable for you, and moreover, hopefully it got you intrigued enough to want to check the stuff out! I’m going to put a page up next with some recommendations if you’re interested in having some true crime fun.

But for those of you like me, this book is literally a true crime nerd’s wet dream. I mean, come on. The psychiatrist and the psychopath?? My first foray into doctor-patient and of course I couldn’t do it like a normal person.

Anyway, let’s talk Jeffrey Dahmer. He’s the killer who sort of inspired Felix Darcey. Very loosely based, of course, because Felix never dabbled in cannibalism. It just wasn’t his kink. The closest we got was the blood play, and for those of you who’ve followed me for a while, you know bloody play is not my thing at all. So it was interesting writing two characters so desperately into it. I felt like Lem myself, with the sort of unexpected arousal of it. I never thought I would find slicing flesh and lapping up someone’s blood sexy, but let me tell you, those two made it work for me.

The Jeffrey Dahmer Easter eggs are everywhere in this book. I purposely included nods to my favorite parts of his story (as well as some other killers we’ll get to in a moment). For example, Tom Kline’s jogging. A very specific part of Jeffrey Dahmer’s confession story was this jogger he watched when he was younger. It was the moment he knew that he was attracted to men, yes, but also that his thoughts about their body parts were… a bit less than normal.

Also, Darcey’s apartment in Brooklyn Heights was number 213, which was the same number as Jeffrey Dahmer’s infamous residence in Milwaukee, where he’d experimented on his victims and kept pieces of them in the freezer. Yea.

Even just Darcey’s personality and upbringing have little splatters of Dahmer in there. Growing up as a strange lonely loser, only one real friend who sort of stuck up for him… Bipolar mother, cold, distant father, and a younger sibling who got all the attention. The only major difference here is that Jeffrey Dahmer chose to become a raging alcoholic at a young age in order to deal with his problems. And Felix Darcey… well, he didn’t do that.

And the head trauma! It’s briefly mentioned by Lem when he first gets Darcey’s file that Darcey experienced head trauma at a young age. If you’ve ever read up on serial killers, you’ll know this is a giant red flag that pops up for a lot of our most notorious killers. And fun fact: the cover model for Brainwashed, Ben Smith, has a notable scar in his hairline in the photo. The amazing photographer, Daniel Jaems, was all ready to photoshop it out and I was like nope! That works perfectly for my little monster, Felix. It’s kismet! (Yes, I am that serious about these details.)

Henry Liu’s escape is also a Dahmer nod, to the Filipino kid whose skull he drilled into and poured like acid in there… The kid got free and started walking down the street all fucked up. And what did the cops do? They let Jeffrey Dahmer take him home! They were literally so afraid of catching gay cooties they wanted nothing to do with looking into the crime.

I can’t even get into that right now.

Some other specific nods to my favorite killers are as follows:

The address of Lem’s horrible uncle Stephen… is the same address of John Wayne Gacy’s home in Chicago, where the bodies of twenty-six boys were found buried beneath his crawl space.

Darcey’s fascination with decapitation is something I borrowed from our friends Ted Bundy and Ed Kemper. Along with a lot about his killing and disposal processes in general.

And then, the part that just tickles my pickle, is Darcey’s final confession file, chapter thirty-two, in which we detail his capture. For this very special scene, I sprinkled in my bits of my favorite arrest story ever… Richard Ramirez, aka The Night Stalker. I won’t get into it too much, since I could literally talk about this for days without coming up for air, but Richard Ramirez was a heinous killer in the LA area in the eighties, and when he was finally caught, he had people legit chasing him down through the streets and neighborhoods he’d been terrorizing for a year! God, it’s such a great arrest story. The absolute best in my opinion.

That whole chapter (thirty-two) is just prime seasoned serial killer behavior. When they start to get cocky and slip up, it’s just the best. Like for example, with Felix talking to Henry Liu about himself… Referencing The Carver in the papers and saying, “Hopefully they catch him soon.” It’s something these narcissistic assholes just can’t help but do. Ted Bundy used to do it, Ed Gein… Too many to name.

Honestly, there are so many true crime tidbits in this book, it would take me days to go through, but I’ll start a thread in The Ivory Mansion spoiler group on Facebook where we can chat about it if you’re down!

Next up, I just wanted to mention something that you probably caught, about what makes Lemuel Love Felix’s perfect companion. Even though the two of them seem like they couldn’t be more mismatched, after we peel back the layers, we come to find that they’re just what the other needs.

Felix spent his adult life chasing the one who got away… Cameron. He always thought he wanted someone just like that, like the guys he always seemed to gravitate towards… Isaac, Emmanuel, the men he dated, they were all the same. Charming, outgoing, sweet and confident. Basically everything Felix Darcey never felt himself to be.

Everything The Carver was.

And that’s the most interesting part, is when you get to see the flashes of The Carver come through in Felix. Times when he was able to let go of his insecurities and be the real him; a combination of the two. A lot of his invisibility, which stemmed from his childhood, became like a crutch to him. It allowed him to do what he needed to do to survive. And in turn, he became his true self.

This is why it was so important for him to find someone unlike his Cameron prototype. Clearly we can all see that Felix Darcey has massive daddy issues. And the thing is that he needed someone who was like his father in some ways—cold, quiet and dominant—but like Cameron is the ways that would settle him—eager to take care of him, to support him and care for him no matter what.

Lem is that someone. Which is also the sort of connection we see between Lem and Want the mannequin! Want was Felix’s first true confidante. The voice of his inner self, of course, but also his ideal lover. Who is very similar to Lem, and that’s why Felix ends up calling Lem Want. Because Lemuel is the Want Felix always needed. Get it? ;)

Lemuel’s development was something that took me by surprise over the course of writing the book. I knew all along that Lemuel Love wasn’t a good guy. That was a given, what with his extreme fascination with these atrocious killers, and him writing a book like Beneficial Brainwashing…

Another fun fact: the term beneficial brainwashing comes from a campaign back in the sixties when the CIA came up with MK Ultra, and were using LSD to brainwash people. That’s right, folks. I’m not only a true crime nerd, I’m also into conspiracy theories!

But I really can’t go into conspiracy theory or the CIA right now because lord, this thing would be eight hundred pages, but if this stuff interests you, I highly suggest listening to the podcast I put on the recommendations page.

But yea! In terms of Lem’s interest in the morally beyond-questionable experiments that Dr. Johansson and his band of lunatic doctors partake in, I think we all got from the start that our Doctor Daddy wasn’t some kind of knight in shining armor, riding into the East Wing to save Felix from becoming a lab rat. In fact, his moral compass seems to swing back and forth throughout the story, until the end when he recognizes his true needs.

For Felix, and for vengeance. It’s interesting to say the least.

This is the line we play with in this book. You assume that Lem is the one brainwashing Felix, but on the contrary. Felix Darcey burrows his way inside Lemuel Love in a way that can’t be ignored. And ultimately it begs the question… If it weren’t for his meeting and falling desperately in love with Felix Darcey, would Lem have killed his uncle?

It’s the same question he begins the book asking. About circumstance… Nature versus nurture.

Was he driven to become a killer himself by his association with the most intriguing person he’s ever happened upon? Or… was his killing Stephen inevitable?

The yo-yoing that happens in this book is crazy, and I could talk about that for hours, too. I won’t, but I urge you to think about Dr. Love’s interactions with Trevel. What they discussed…

In a way, Dr. Love’s character mirrors Trevel’s, on more of an upside sort of fashion. Trevel is like the bizarro Love. Which is very exciting, because he is a character who sort of popped up out of nowhere, and believe you me, this is not the last we’ll be seeing of him. ;)

In terms of the timeline, you can see that all the books so far are kind of overlapping each other, which is happening for a reason. It was very exciting for me to show you guys Dash’s escape through the eyes of the person who helped him, because even though we’ve experienced this from a few different POVs so far, some people still think Joy was a part of it.

But let’s recap: Joy was only providing Dash with goods on behalf of Kemper. She had nothing to do—directly—with Dash’s escape. That was all Felix.

He unlocked the cell and gave Dash the keys.

Now, in terms of what’s been happening in the East Wing control room… that’s an answer for another time. But as of right now, we know that Dr. Love gave Darcey the keys, and Darcey gave them to Dash.

I meant what I said. Each book will answer some questions, and present more. I won’t give anything away now, but just know that all the little breadcrumbs scattered throughout this series will lead us to a very intense, chaotic and gruesome finale.

The last thing I want to point out is that writing Felix Darcey, while immensely satisfying for my dark little heart, was very complicated, because I went into it knowing he would not have a true character arc. There would be no moment of clarity, building up over the course of the book until finally he realizes how much he’s grown, or how he needs to change in order to blah blah blah. That doesn’t exist for him. He’s a killer with no remorse, and that’s all she wrote.

The arc for Felix is more about him discovering that regardless of how evil he is, he deserves love. Is this true? Well, that’s for everyone to decide. I’m sure in the real world, many of us might say hell no. And that’s fine. But in the fictional world of Alabaster Penitentiary, I wanted this story to end with someone as disgusting and morally reprehensible as The Carver realizing that he can fall in love just like everyone else. That he deserves, at the very least, to be with someone who finds him so goddamn fascinating he can’t even keep his hands off.

And that’s Lemuel Love.

So maybe in some ways, Lem is his savior. Maybe he is the person who swept into this misunderstood man’s life sentence and gave him a second chance at experiencing things he’d been searching for his whole life, but could never quite pin down.

And for Lem, he was finally able to give into his true nature. His true self. Saying, fuck his family, his colleagues, his exes and their expectations. He fell in love with someone the polar opposite of who he was supposed to love, and it felt more right for him than anything else ever had.

That’s the mark of a raw and honest love story, I think. When the characters arc together, staying true to themselves all along.

Alright, well that’s enough. I need to stop before I write another hundred-and-eighty thousand words. I just hope that you’re all happy with the outcome of this bloody tale. And just know that what’s coming next with be anything but smooth…

After all, there’s a lot at stake on this rock.

Nyla K’s True Crime RECs:

The Last Podcast On The Left - Listen on Spotify, Apple, anywhere you listen to podcasts

I literally dedicated this book to the hosts of this show, which should tell you how important this is to me. It’s not just a podcast. Five hundred episodes later, I feel like these guys are my friends or something. So much of what I’ve learned, not only for this series, but also for eons of other topics, is from these three weirdos. I recommend listening to the series on Alcatraz, Jeffrey Dahmer (duh), Richard Ramirez (duh), Herbert Mullins, Panzram, Aleister Crowley, Bonnie and Clyde… The list goes on. Just give them a listen, okay? And then buy their book, The Last Book On The Left.

Mindhunter - Watch on Netflix

So cards on the table, I haven’t read this full book yet. I own it (the one by John Douglas that Lem’s always raving about), but the book is what inspired the TV show, which is what I’m recommending you watch. It’s all based on true events, and there are only two seasons which is a travesty. They better be making more or I’ll hunt someone down! (Kidding, of course).

Night Stalker: The Hunt for a Serial Killer - Watch on Netflix

This is the documentary I was mentioning about Richard Ramirez (The Night Stalker). He was almost unfathomably terrifying. A heinous prolific killer who wreaked havoc on LA for one manic year between 84-85. This documentary is from the POV of the detectives who caught him, and it’s really a fascinating story. Highly recommended.

Conversations With a Killer: Ted Bundy & John Wayne Gacy - both on Netflix

These are true crime documentaries based around recorded conversations with these two. It’s very interesting stuff. Both of these guys were huge assholes who maintained their innocence until almost the end. I highly recommend checking them both out.

My Friend Dahmer - Watch on Hulu

This is a fictional movie, not a documentary, but I really enjoyed it. Based on what I know about Jeffrey Dahmer, it got a lot of stuff right, about his upbringing and whatnot. This movie takes place prior to his first kill, but it shows a lot of the stuff I was talking about with the loneliness and the alcoholism.

Also be sure to check out the books by Thomas Harris which inspired the infamous movies - The Red Dragon, The Silence of the Lambs, & Hannibal.

That’s all I got for now, but definitely join the Ivory Mansion Spoiler Group on Facebook to chat more about all this grim and gritty stuff!

**Please note that while we’re talking about having an interest in the dark side of very true events, in no way do I see serial killers are celebrities, or people to be admired. Interest in true crime is just that; an intrigue into the macabre. But I fully realize that these men took the lives of people who didn’t deserve it, which is simply abhorrent. The romanticizing in my book is for the fictional side only. Please see the next page for some resources.**

For the families of victims:

The National Organization of Parents of Murdered Children

Cold Case Foundation

For abuse survivors:

RAINN

For LGBTQ+

The Trevor Project

If you or someone you know is experiencing troubling thoughts, contact 1-800-273-TALK (8255).

The world is a dark place. Just know my DM’s are always open if you need an ear.

I need to start with the most important people to the creation of this book… You! The readers, the fans, if you will! This book would not have happened if it wasn’t for your unbridled enthusiasm for Felix Darcey. Literally the moment The Carver was mentioned, everyone lost their minds, and it really pumped me up. I always knew I would write a serial killer—it’s what I was made to do lol—but you all being almost rabid for Felix made it even more exciting, and necessary. So thank you, Carver Crew! Without you, writing this book may not have been the absolute blast it ended up being.

I also, of course, need to thank my fiancé, Patrick. Babe, we did it! This is the one we’ve both been waiting for! Your excitement over this book, and even more your excitement over knowing that I’m a total lunatic who writes such creepy shit like it’s nothing, gave me life. Thank you for always letting me ramble to you about my characters, what they’re doing and how they’re feeling. I know sometimes it’s hard for you to follow, between all these characters I talk about like they’re real human people. But this one was different. All the months—years, even—of listening to podcasts and watching documentaries culminated in this, and you were a huge part of that. So thank you, bub. You’re my rock.

K, my editor and the LITERAL Want to my Need… You fix my crazy. And you have your work cut out for you, clearly. Thank you for letting me do exactly what my little true crime nerd’s heart desired on this one, and for telling me that I’m a “depraved genius”, because that’s the best compliment I could ever ask for. We’ll always have the bathtub… LOL.

Amber freaking Salazar… My PA and one of my best friends in the entire world… GORRRLLL, I couldn’t do any of what I do without you. Not only do you help me out so much with the little things—taking care of the annoying details so I don’t have to is a priceless gift—but you’re just here for me. You’re always here to listen to me venting, even when you have your own shit going on. Not to mention that you’re an honest to God fan of my work, which gives me life when my insecurities are taking over. I love you like Felix loves killing, and I cannot WAIT to have tacos with you!

Mackenzie of Nice Girl Naughty Edits… Kenz, baby girl, you are such a goddamn superstar, I almost can’t even fathom it. You’ve become such an intricate part of my business, and I sincerely feel like if I didn’t have you, I’d cease to exist. Thank you so much for all you do for me, not even just the bomb ass graphics and the top-notch proofreading, but like… being my friend. Being a real-ass confidante I can talk through my problems with. And I think we’re both psychos, because you actually get me! You… complete me. LOL. Love you, betch. If you try to leave me, I’ll go all Carver on your ass!

Ashlee O’Brien of Ashes & Vellichor… I gotta say a MASSIVE thank you to you for coming on this wild ride with me. Having you design these covers was like the happiest accident ever. We totally mesh, and I’m so dang happy to call you a friend. Can’t wait to see what kinds of white rabbits you pull out of your hat for the next ones!

To Daniel Jaems and Ben Smith, my photographer and cover model… Thank you so much for being a part of this strange ass book! Daniel, you are such an artist, one of my absolute favorite photographers, hands down. Being able to work with you on this was a dream come true. And Ben is the perfect physical representation of Felix Darcey. I’m so glad everything worked out this way. I adore you both!

My awesome friend Lana, aka Dirty Girl Romance Book Blog. Thank you for agreeing to beta this book for me for literally three lines in one chapter LOL. You’re my lil Russian spy when it comes to perfecting Russian dialogue. And even though there are only three Russian lines in this book, you know how important it is to me to get them right. I don’t play when it comes to accuracy, especially with my characters, and I know you feel the same way. Dash is like the most important person to me, so thank you so dang much for helping me make him the perfect little morsel of crazy he is :-D (And it’s not even his book!)

Champagne Book Design for rocking the interior formatting on this whole series! Stacey, you are a champ and I love your work. Thank you for being the ultimate in professionalism and efficiency. I love that when I put my baby in your hands, I don’t have to worry about a single thing. That’s really saying something in this industry. You’re amazing.

I know I already dedicated the book to them AND went on a tangent recommending their show, but Marcus Parks, Ben Kissel and Henry Zebrowski… Thank you for doing what you do. For the research, and the humor, and for staying true to yourselves. It’s not just a podcast, it’s a place to learn and have fun and explore macabre topics to crack open your mind to. I respect the shit out of you guys and love you to the bridge and back.

To the Flipping Hot Readers group, and the Inmates ARC Team… You all are simply astonishing. Thank you for loving my words, and for being the most loyal damn readers on the planet. Thank you for the pimping you do… It’s no small feat. I’m not sure you’ll ever know how important you are to me. Just know I wholly do this for you guys.

And to my tribe—my army. Everyone who went to bat for me after my last release… you know who you are… You’re my real ride or dies. The authors and readers alike who have had my back, who believe in what I do and the worlds I create… You’re the reason I’m still standing. Or rather, sitting… in front of my keyboard. To the badass motherfuckers who believe in freedom of art, open-mindedness and love at all costs, even when it doesn’t look normal… You all deserve nothing shy of all my blood, sweat and tears for the rest of my career. Because of you, I wrote this book happy and excited. My mental health could have taken me to a very dark place… It almost did. But you all kept me breathing, and for that, you’re the Dr. Love to my Felix Darcey. I promise to give you millions more words of real, honest, raw and smutty goodness, so long as we both shall live. I do.

THANK YOU FOR READING

The Midnight City Series:

Andrew & Tessa’s Trilogy

(Forbidden/Age Gap, celebrity romance, suspense. Read in order)

Midnight City (TMCS #1)

Never Let Me Go (TMCS #2)

Always Yours (TMCS #3)

Alex & Noah

Seek Me (TMCS #4 – Standalone, Friends to lovers/Angst)

Unexpected Forbidden Romance:

PUSH (Standalone, Taboo/MMF)

PULL (Continuation novella!)

To Burn In Brutal Rapture (Standalone, Taboo/Age Gap)

Double-edged (Standalone, MMM Age Gap, Twincest – BANNED by Amazon for being too taboo! Can be found on Edenbooks.org, Lulu, & Nyla’s website)

Alabaster Penitentiary:

Distorted, Volume 1 (MM, prisoner/prison guard, dub-con, mindf*ck)

Joyless, Volume 2 (MMF, the guards, second chance, forbidden)

Brainwashed, Volume 3 (MM, doctor/patient, true crime)

Fragments, Volume 4 (MM) – Coming in 2023!

Ivory, Volume 5 (mystery, *wink wink*)

Twisted Tales Collection:

Serpent In White (A drug cult MMM poly retelling of The White Snake)

Twisted Christmas: A Taboo Christmas Anthology

Unwrap Him by Nyla K (An Age Gap, Taboo MM) Coming back in December 2022!

Sign up for my Newsletter to get exclusive first looks at bonus content!

Don’t forget to share and leave a review! It means the world!

Hi, guys! I’m Nyla K… New member of the Banned Books Club! Eee!

I’m an awkward sailor-mouthed lover of all things romance, existing in the Dirty Lew, up in Maine, with my fiancé, who you can call PB, or Patty Banga if you’re nasty. When I’m not writing and reading sexy books, I’m rocking out to Machine Gun Kelly and YUNGBLUD, cooking yummy food and fussing over my kitten (and no, that’s not a euphemism). Did I mention I have a dirtier mind than probably everyone you know?

I like to admire hot guys (don’t we all?) and book boyfriends, cake and ice cream are my kryptonite. I can recite every word that was ever uttered on Friends, Family Guy, and How I Met Your Mother, red Gatorade is my lifeblood, and I love to sing, although I’ve been told I do it in a Cher voice for some reason. I’m very passionate about the things that matter to me, and art is probably the biggest one. If you tell me you like my books, I’ll give you whatever you want. I consider my readers are my friends, and I welcome anyone to find me on social media any time you want to talk books or sexy dudes!

Get at me:

AuthorNylaK@gmail.com, or my PA amberbookobsession@gmail.com

The Flipping Hot Newsletter!

Instagram:@AuthorNylaK

Facebook: AuthorNylaK

Tiktok: @NylaKAuthor

Twitter: @MissNylah

Goodreads: Nyla K

BookBub: @AuthorNylaK

Happy reading!